..MiSitM, 


EX  LIBRIS 
JOSEPH   E.  LIFSCHUTZ 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2008  witii  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcliive.org/details/framleyparsonageOOtrolrich 


By  Anthony  Trollope. 

Anthony  Trollope's  position  grows  more  secure  with  every  new  work  whicli 
comes  from  his  pen.  He  is  one  of  the  most"  proUfic  of  writers,  yet  his  stories  im- 
prove with  time  instead  of  growing  weaker,  and  each  is  as  finished  and  as  forcible 
as  though  it  were  the  sole  production  of  the  author. — N.  V.  Sun. 

RALPH    THE    HEIR.      With    Illustrations.       8vo.       (Nearly 

Ready.) 
SIR  HARRY  HOTSPUR.     Illustrated.     8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 
THE  VICAR  OF  BULLHAMPTON.    Engravings.    8vo,  Cloth, 

$1  75  ;  Paper,  $1  25. 
THE  BELTON  ESTATE.    8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 
THE  BERTRAMS.     i2mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 
BROWN,  JONES,  AND  ROBINSON.     8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 
CAN  YOU  FORGIVE  HER?    Engravings.    3vo,  Cloth,  $200; 

Paper,  $1  50. 
CASTLE  RICHMOND.     i2mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 
THE  CLAVERINGS.     Engravings.     8vo,  Cloth,  $1  00;   Paper, 

50  cents. 
DOCTOR  THORNE.     i2mo.  Cloth,  $1  50. 
FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE,     Engravings.     i2mo,  Cloth,  $1  75. 
HE  KNEW  HE  WAS  RIGHT.    Engravings.    8vo,  Cloth,  $1  50; 

Paper,  $1  00. 
MISS  MACKENZIE.     8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 
NORTH  AMERICA.     i2mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 

ORLEY  FARM.     Engravings.     8vo,  Cloth,  $2  00;  Paper,  $1  50. 
PHINEAS    FINN,  the  Irish  Member.     Illustrated  by  J.  E.  Mil- 

lais,  R.A.     8vo,  Cloth,  $1  75;  Paper,  $1  25. 
RACHEL  RAY.     8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 
SMALL  HOUSE  AT  ALLINGTON.    Engravings.    8vo,  Cloth, 

$2  00;  Paper,  $1  50. 
THE  LAST  CHRONICLE   OF   BARSET.     Engravings.     8vo, 

Cloth,  $2  GO;  Paper,  $1  50. 
THE  THREE  CLERKS.     i2mo.  Cloth,  $1  50. 
THE  WARDEN   and    BARCHESTER   TOWERS.      In  One 

Volume.     8vo,  Paper,  75  cents. 
THE  WEST  INDIES  AND  THE  SPANISH  MAIN.     i2mo, 

Cloth,  $1  50. 

Published  by  HARPER  &-  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

B^"  Harper  &  Brothers  ivill  send  the  above  works  by  mail,  postage  paid, 
to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


LOHD    LUlfOK    AND    LUCV    ItOHAKi; 


FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 


li  Notjcl. 


By  ANTHONY  TROLLOPS, 

AUTIIOE  OP 

'DOCTOR  TIIORNE,"   "THE  BERTRAMS,"   "THE  THREE  CLERKS," 
&c.,  &c.,  &c. 


WITH     ILLUSTRATIONS. 


NEW    YORK: 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN     SQUARE. 

1871. 


CONTENTS. 


CUAPTEB  PAGE 

I.     "OMNES   OMNIA   BONA  DICERE" 9 

II.    THE   FRAMLEY   SET  AND  THE   OHALDICOTES   SET 18 

III.  CHALDICOTES 29 

IV.  A   MATTER   OP   CONSCIENCE , 41 

V.    AMANTIUM   IR^   AMORIS   INTEGRATIO 50 

VI.   MR.  HAROLD    SMITH'S    LECTURE 64 

VII.    SUNDAY   MORNING 74 

VIII.    GATHERUM   CASTLE 82 

IX.    THE   vicar's   RETURN 100 

X.    LUCY   ROBARTS 108 

XI.    GRISELDA   GRANTLY 119 

XII.    THE   LITTLE   BILL 134 

XIII.  DELICATE    HINTS 141 

XIV.  BIR.  CRAWLEY   OF   HOGGLESTOCK 152 

XV.    LADY   LUFTON's    EMBASSADOR 163 

XVI.    MRS.   rODGENS'    BABY 172 

XVII.    MRS.  PROUDIe's    CONVERSAZIONE 184 

XVIII.. THE    NEW    minister's    PATRONAGE ; 197 

XIX.   MONEY  DEALINGS 206 

XX.    HAROLD   SMITH   IN   THE   CABINET 219 

XXL    WHY   PUCK,   THE   PONY,   WAS   BEATEN 229 

XXII.    HOGGLESTOCK   PARSONAGE 238 

XXIII.  THE    TRIUMPH    OF    THE    GIANTS 248 

XXIV.  MAGNA  EST   VERITAS 260 

XXV.    NON-IMPULSIVE 273 

XXVI.    IMPULSIVE 283 

XXVII.    SOUTH   AUDLEY    STREET 295 

XXVIII.    DR.   THORNE 304 

XXIX.    MISS   DUNSTABLE   AT   HOME 312 

XXX.   THE   GRANTLY   TRIUMPH , 333 

XXXI.    SALMON   FISHING   IN    NORAVAY 338 

XXXII.    THE   GOAT   AND   COMPASSES 354 


Vlll  COXTENTS. 

CIlArTEB  PAGE 

XXXIII.  CONSOLATION 362 

XXXIV.  LADY    LUFTON   IS    TAKEN    BY    SURPRISE 370 

XXXV.   THE    STOKY   OP   KING   COPHETUA 380 

XXXVI.    KIDNAPPING   AT   HOGGLESTOCK 391 

XXXVII.    MR.    SOWERBY   WITHOUT  COMPANY 401 

XXXVIII.    IS   THERE   CAUSE   OR  JUST   IMPEDIMENT? 411 

XXXIX.    HOW   TO  WRITE   A   LOVE-LETTER , 424 

XL.    INTERNECINE 435 

XLI.   DON  QUIXOTE 446 

XLII.    TOUCHING   PITCH 456 

XLIII.    IS   SHE   NOT  INSIGNIFICANT? 466 

XLIV.    THE   PHILISTINES   AT  THE    PARSONAGE 477 

XLV.    PALACE   BLESSINGS 490 

XLVI.    LADY   LUFTOn'S   REQUEST 500 

XLVII.   NEMESIS 512 

XLVIII.    HOW    THEY    WERE    ALL    MARRIED,    HAD    TWO    CHILDREN, 

AND   LIVED   HAPPY   EVER   AFTER 520 


FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 


CHAPTER  I. 


When  young  Mark  Robarts  was  leaving  college,  his  fa- 
ther might  well  declare  that  all  men  began  to  say  all  good 
things  to  him,  and  to  extol  his  fortune  in  that  he  had  a  son 
blessed  with  so  excellent  a  disposition. 

This  father  was  a  physician  living  at  Exeter.  He  was  a 
gentleman  possessed  of  no  private  means,  but  enjoying  a 
lucrative  practice,  which  had  enabled  him  to  maintain  and 
educate  a  family  with  all  the  advantages  which  money  can 
give  in  this  country.  Mark  was  his  eldest  son  and  second 
child ;  and  the  first  page  or  two  of  this  narrative  must  be 
consumed  in  giving  a  catalogue  of  the  good  things  which 
chance  and  conduct  together  had  heaped  upon  this  young 
man's  head. 

His  first  step  forward  in  life  had  arisen  from  his  having 
been  sent,  while  still  very  young,  as  a  private  pupil  to  the 
house  of  a  clergyman,  who  was  an  old  friend  and  intimate 
friend  of  his  father's.  This  clergyman  had  one  other,  and 
only  one  other,  pupil — the  young  Lord  Lufton,  and  be- 
tween the  two  boys  there  had  sprung  up  a  close  alliance. 

While  they  Avere  both  so  placed,  Lady  Lufton  had  visit- 
ed her  son,  and  then  invited  young  Robarts  to  pass  his  next 
holidays  at  Framley  Court.  This  visit  Avas  made ;  and  it 
ended  in  Mark  going  back  to  Exeter  with  a  letter  full  of 
praise  from  the  widowed  peeress.  She  had  been  delight- 
ed, she  said,  in  having  such  a  companion  for  her  son,  and 
expressed  a  hope  that  the  boys  might  remain  together 
during  the  course  of  their  education.  Dr.  Robarts  was  a 
man  who  thought  much  of  the  breath  of  peers  and  peer- 
esses, and  Avas  by  no  means  inclined  to  throw  away  any 
advantage  Avhich  might  arise  to  his  child  from  such  a 
friendshi]!.  Wlien,  tlierefore,  the  young  lord  was  sent  to 
Harrow,  Mark  Robarts  went  there  also. 

A2 


10  FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

That  the  lord  and  his  friend  often  quarreled,  and  occa- 
sionally fought — the  fact  even  that  for  one  period  of  three 
months  they  never  spoke  to  each  other — by  no  means  in- 
terfered with  the  doctor's  hopes.  Mark  again  and  again 
staid  a  fortnight  at  Fraraley  Court,  and  Lady  Lufton  al- 
ways wrote  about  him  in  the  highest  terms. 

And  then  the  lads  went  together  to  Oxford,  and  here 
Mark's  good  fortune  followed  him,  consisting  rather  in  the 
highly  respectable  manner  in  which  he  lived,  than  in  any 
wonderful  career  of  collegiate  success.  His  family  was 
proud  of  him,  and  the  doctor  was  always  ready  to  talk  of 
him  to  his  patients ;  not  because  he  was  a  prizeman,  and 
had  gotten  medals  and  scholarships,  but  on  account  of  the 
excellence  of  his  general  conduct.  He  lived  with  the  best 
set,  he  incurred  no  debts,  he  was  fond  of  society — but  able 
to  avoid  low  society — liked  his  glass  of  w^ine,  but  was  nev- 
er known  to  be  drunk ;  and,  above  all  things,  was  one  of 
the  most  popular  men  in  the  university. 

Then  came  the  question  of  a  profession  for  this  young 
Hyperion ;  and  on  this  subject  Dr.  Robarts  was  invited 
himself  to  go  over  to  Framley  Court  to  discuss  the  matter 
with  Lady  Lufton.  Dr.  Robarts  returned  with  a  very 
strong  conception  that  the  Church  was  the  profession  best 
suited  to  his  son. 

Lady  Lufton  had  not  sent  for  Dr.  Robarts  all  the  way 
from  Exeter  for  nothing.  The  living  of  Framley  was  in 
the  gift  of  the  Lufton  family,  and  the  next  presentation 
would  be  in  Lady  Lufton's  hands,  if  it  should  fall  vacant 
before  the  young  lord  was  twenty-five  years  of  age,  and  in 
the  young  lord's  hands  if  it  should  fall  afterward.  But  the 
mother  and  the  heir  consented  to  give  a  joint  promise  to 
Dr.  Robarts.  Now  as  the  present  incumbent  was  over 
seventy,  and  as  the  living  was  worth  £900  a  year,  there 
could  be  no  doubt  as  to  the  eligibility  of  the  clerical  pro- 
fession. 

And  I  must  farther  say  that  the  dowager  and  the  doc- 
tor were  justified  in  their  choice  by  the  life  and  principles 
of  the  young  man — as  far  as  any  father  can  be  justified  in 
choosing  such  a  j^rofession  for  his  son,  and  as  far  as  any 
lay  impropriator  can  be  justified  in  making  such  a  promise. 
Had  Lady  Lufton  had  a  second  son,  that  second  son  would 
probably  have  had  the  living,  and  no  one  would  have 
thought  it  wrong ;  certainly  not  if  that  second  son  had 
been  such  a  one  as  Mark  Robarts. 


FEAMLEY   PAKSONAGE.  11 

Lady  Lufton  herself  was  a  woman  who '  thought  much 
on  religious  matters,  and  would  by  no  means  have  been 
disposed  to  place  any  one  in  a  living  merely  because  such 
a  one  had  been  her  son's  friend.  Her  tendencies  were 
High  Church,  and  she  was  enabled  to  perceive  that  those 
of  young  Mark  Robarts  ran  in  the  same  direction.  She 
was  very  desirous  that  her  son  should  make  an  associate 
of  his  clergyman,  and  by  this  step  she  would  insure,  at  any 
rate,  that.  She  was  anxious  that  the  parish  vicar  should 
be  one  with  whom  she  could  herself  fully  co-operate,  and 
was  perhaps  unconsciously  wishful  that  he  might  in  some 
measure  be  subject  to  her  influence.  Should  she  appoint 
an  elder  man,  this  might  probably  not  be  the  case  to  the 
same  extent ;  and  should  her  son  have  the  gift,  it  might 
probably  not  be  the  case  at  all. 

And  therefore  it  was  resolved  that  the  living  should  be 
given  to  young  Kobarts. 

He  took  his  degree — not  with  any  brilliancy,  but  quite 
in  the  manner  that  his  father  desired  ;  he  then  traveled  for 
eight  or  ten  months  with  Lord  Lufton  and  a  college  don, 
and  almost  immediately  after  his  return  home  was  or- 
dained. 

The  living  of  Framley  is  in  the  diocese  of  Barchester ; 
•  and,  seeing  what  were  Mark's  hopes  with  reference  to  that 
diocese,  it  was  by  no  means  difficult  to  get  him  a  curacy 
Avithin  it.  But  this  curacy  he  w^as  not  allowed  long  to  fill. 
He  had  not  been  in  it  above  a  twelve-month  when  poor  old 
Dr.  Stopford,  the  then  vicar  of  Framlej^,  was  gathered  to 
his  fathers,  and  the  full  fruition  of  his  rich  hopes  fell  upon 
his  shoulders. 

But  even  yet  more  must  be  told  of  his  good  fortune  be- 
fore we  can  come  to  the  actual  incidents  of  our  story. 
Lady  Lufton,  w^io,  as  I  have  said,  thought  much  of  clerical 
matters,  did  not  carry  her  High-Cliurch  principles  so  far  as 
to  advocate  celibacy  for  the  clergy.  On  the  contrary,  she 
had  an  idea  that  a  man  could  not  be  a  good  parish  parson 
without  a  wife.  So,  having  given  to  her  favorite  a  posi- 
tion in  the  world,  and  an  income  sufficient  for  a  gentle- 
man's wants,  she  set  herself  to  work  to  find  him  a  partner 
in  those  blessings. 

And  here  also,  as  in  other  matters,  he  fell  in  w^ith  the 
views  of  his  patroness — not,  however,  that  they  w^ere  de- 
clared to  him  in  that  marked  manner  in  which  the  aftair 


12  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

of  the  living  had  been  broached.  Lady  Lufton  was  much 
too  highly  gifted  with  woman's  craft  for  that.  She  never 
told  the  young  vicar  that  Miss  Monsell  accompanied  her 
ladyship's  married  daughter  to  Framley  Court  expressly 
that  he,  Mark,  might  fall  in  love  with  her;  but  such  was 
in  truth  the  case. 

Lady  Lufton  had  but  two  children.  The  eldest,  a  daugh- 
ter, had  been  married  some  four  or  live  years  to  Sir  George 
Meredith,  and  this  Miss  Monsell  was  a  dear  friend  of  hers. 
And  now  looms  before  me  the  novelist's  great  difficulty. 
Miss  Monsell — or,  rather,  Mrs.  Mark  Robarts — must  be  de- 
scribed. As  Miss  Monsell  our  tale  will  have  to  take  no 
prolonged  note  of  her.  And  yet  we  will  call  her  Fanny 
Monsell,  when  we  declare  that  she  was  one  of  the  pleasant- 
est  companions  that  could  be  brought  near  to  a  man,  as 
the  future  partner  of  his  home  and  owner  of  his  heart. 
And  if  high  principles  without  asperity,  female  gentleness 
without  weakness,  a  love  of  laughter  without  malice,  and 
a  true  loving  heart,  can  qualify  a  woman  to  be  a  parson's 
wife,  then  was  Fanny  Monsell  qualified  to  fill  that  station. 

In  person  she  was  somewhat  larger  than  common.  Her 
face  would  have  been  beautiful  but  that  her  mouth  was 
large.  Her  hair,  which  was  copious,  was  of  a  light  brown ; 
her  eyes  were  also  brown,  and,  being  so,  were  the  distinct- 
ive feature  of  her  face,  for  brown  eyes  are  not  common. 
They  were  liquid,  large,  and  full  either  of  tenderness  or 
of  mirth.  Mark  Robarts  still  had  his  accustomed  luck, 
when  such  a  girl  as  this  was  brought  to  Framley  for  his 
wooing. 

And  he  did  woo  her — and  won  her.  For  Mark  himself 
was  a  handsome  fellow.  At  this  time  the  vicar  was  about 
twenty-five  years  of  age,  and  the  future  Mrs.  Robarts  was 
two  or  three  years  younger.  Nor  did  she  come  quite 
empty-handed  to  the  vicarage.  It  can  not  be  said  that 
Fanny  Monsell  was  an  heiress,  but  she  had  been  left  with 
a  provision  of  some  few  thousand  pounds.  This  was  so 
settled  that  the  interest  of  his  wife's  money  paid  the  heavy 
insurance  on  his  life  which  young  Robarts  effected,  and 
there  was  left  to  him,  over  and  above,  sufficient  to  furnish 
his  parsonage  in  the  very  best  style  of  clerical  comfort, 
and  to  start  him  on  the  road  of  life  rejoicing. 

So  much  did  Lady  Lufton  do  for  her  protegee^  and  it  may 
well  be  imagined  that  the  Devonshire  physician,  sitting  med- 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  13 

itative  over  his  parlor  fire,  looking  back,  as  men  will  look 
back  on  the  upshot  of  their  life,  was  well  contented  Avith 
that  upshot  as  regarded  his  eldest  offshoot,  the  Rev.  Mark 
Robarts,  the  Vicar  of  Framley. 

But  little  has  as  yet  been  said,  personally,  as  to  our  hero 
himself,  and  perhaps  it  may  not  be  necessary  to  say  much. 
Let  us  hope  that  by  degrees  he  may  come  forth  upon  the 
canvas,  showing  to  the  beholder  the  nature  of  the  man  in- 
wardly and  outwardly.  Here  it  may  suffice  to  say  that  he 
was  no  born  heaven's  cherub,  neither  was  he  a  born  fallen 
devil's  spirit.  Such  as  his  training  made  him,  such  he  was. 
He  had  large  capabilities  for  good — and  aptitudes  also  for 
evil,  quite  enough :  quite  enough  to  make  it  needful  that 
he  should  repel  temptation  as  temptation  only  can  be  re- 
pelled. Much  had  been  done  to  spoil  him,  but  in  the  ordi- 
nary acceptation  of  the  Avord  he  Avas  not  spoiled.  He  had 
too  much  tact,  too  much  common  sense,  to  belicA^e  himself 
to  be  the  paragon  Avhich  his  mother  thought  him.  Self- 
conceit  was  not,  perhaps,  his  greatest  danger.  Had  he 
possessed  more  of  it,  he  might  have  been  a  less  agreeable 
man,  but  his  course  before  him  might  on  that  account  have 
been  the  safer. 

In  person  he  Avas  manly,  tall,  and  fair-haired,  Avith  a 
square  forehead,  denoting  intelligence  rather  than  thought, 
Avith  clear  Avhite  hands,  filbert  nails,  and  a  poAver  of  dress- 
ing himself  in  such  a  manner  that  no  one  should  ever  ob- 
serve of  him  that  his  clothes  Avere  either  good  or  bad,  shab- 
by or  smart. 

Such  Avas  Mark  Robarts  Avhen  at  the  age  of  twenty-five, 
or  a  little  more,  he  married  Fanny  Monsell.  The  marriage 
Avas  celebrated  in  his  own  church,  for  Miss  Monsell  had  no 
home  of  her  OAvn,  and  had  been  staying  for  the  last  three 
months  at  Framley  Court.  She  Avas  given  aAvay  by  Sir 
George  Meredith,  and  Lady  Lufton  herself  saAv  that  the 
Avedding  Avas  Avhat  it  should  be  Avith  almost  as  much  care 
as  she  had  bestoAved  on  that  of  her  own  daughter.  The 
deed  of  marrying,  the  absolute  tying  of  the  knot,  Avas  per- 
formed by  the  Very  Reverend  the  Dean  of  Barcliester,  an 
esteemed  friend  of  Lady  Lufton's.  And  Mrs.  Arabin,  the 
dean's  Avife,  AA^as  of  the  party,  thougli  the  distance  from 
Barchester  to  Framley  is  long,  and  the  roads  deep,  and  no 
railway  lends  its  assistance.  And  Lord  Lufton  was  there, 
of  course ;  and  people  protested  that  he  Avould  surely  fall 


14  PKAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

in  love  with  one  of  the  four  beautiful  bridesmaids,  of  whom 
Blanche  Robarts,  the  vicar's  second  sister,  was  by  common 
acknowledgment  by  far  the  most  beautiful. 

And  there  was  there  another  and  a  younger  sister  of 
Mark's — who  did  not  officiate  at  the  ceremony  though  she 
was  present — and  of  whom  no  prediction  was  made,  seeing 
that  she  was  then  only  sixteen,  but  of  whom  mention  is 
made  here,  as  it  will  come  to  pass  that  my  readers  will 
know  her  hereafter.     Her  name  was  Lucy  Robarts. 

And  then  the  vicar  and  his  wife  went  off  on  their  wed- 
ding tour,  the  old  curate  taking  care  of  the  Framley  souls 
the  while. 

And  in  due  time  they  returned ;  and  after  a  farther  in- 
terval, in  due  course,  a  child  was  born  to  them ;  and  then 
another ;  and  after  that  came  the  period  at  which  we  will 
begin  our  story.  But  before  doing  so,  may  I  not  assert 
that  all  men  were  right  in  saying  all  manner  of  good  things 
to  the  Devonshire  physician,  and  in  praising  his  luck  in 
having  such  a  son  ? 

"You  were  up  at  the  house  to-day,  I  suppose?"  said 
Mark  to  his  wife,  as  he  sat  stretching  himself  in  an  easy 
chair  in  the  drawing-room  before  the  fire  previously  to  his 
dressing  for  dinner.  It  was  a  November  evening,  and  he 
had  been  out  all  day,  and  on  such  occasions  the  aptitude 
for  delay  in  dressing  is  very  powerful.  A  strong-minded 
man  goes  direct  from  the  hall  door  to  his  chamber  without 
encountering  the  temptation  of  the  drawing-room  fire. 

"  No ;  but  Lady  Lufton  was  down  here." 

"  Full  of  arguments  in  favor  of  Sarah  Thompson  ?" 

"  Exactly  so,  Mark." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  about  Sarah  Thompson  ?" 

"  Very  little  as  coming  from  myself;  but  I  did  hint  that 
you  thought,  or  that  I  thought  that  you  thought,  that  one 
of  the  regular  trained  school-mistresses  would  be  better." 

"  But  her  ladyship  did  not  agree  ?" 

"  Well,  I  won't  exactly  say  that ;  though  I  think  that 
perhaps  she  did  not." 

"  I  am  sure  she  did  not.  When  she  has  a  point  to  carry 
she  is  very  fond  of  carrying  it." 

"But  then,  Mark,  her  points  are  generally  so  good." 

"  But,  you  see,  in  this  affair  of  the  school  she  is  thinking 
more  of  her  ]wotegee  than  she  does  of  the  children." 

"Tell  her  that,  and  I  am  sure  she  will  give  way." 


FEAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  15 

And  then  again  they  were  both  silent.  And  the  vicar 
having  thoroughly  warmed  himself,  as  far  as  this  might  be 
done  by  facing  the  fire,  tm-ned  round  and  began  the  opera- 
tion a  tergo. 

"  Come,  Mark,  it  is  twenty  minutes  past  six.  Will  you 
go  and  dress  ?" 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Fanny ;  she  must  have  her  way  about 
Sarah  Thompson.  You  can  see  her  to-morrow  and  tell 
her  so." 

"  I  am  sure,  Mark,  I  would  not  give  way  if  I  thought  it 
wrong.     Nor  would  she  expect  it." 

"  If  I  persist  this  time  I  shall  certainly  have  to  yield 
the  next ;  and  then  the  next  may  probably  be  more  impor- 
tant." 

"  But  if  it's  wrong,  Mark  ?" 

"  I  didn't  say  it  was  wrong.  Besides,  if  it  is  wrong, 
wrong  in  some  infinitesimal  degree,  one  must  put  up  with 
it.  Sarah  Thompson  is  very  respectable ;  the  only  question 
is  whether  she  can  teach." 

The  young  wife,  though  she  did  not  say  so,  had  some 
idea  that  her  husband  was  in  error.  It  is  true  that  one 
must  put  up  with  wrong — with  a  great  deal  of  wrong. 
But  no  one  need  put  up  with  wrong  that  he  can  remedy. 
Why  should  he,  the  vicar,  consent  to  receive  an  incompe- 
tent teacher  for  the  parish  children,  when  he  was  able  to 
procure  one  that  was  competent?  In  such  a  case  —  so 
thought  Mrs.  Robarts  to  herself— she  would  have  fought 
the  matter  out  with  Lady  Lufton. 

On  the  next  morning,  however,  she  did  as  she  was  bid, 
and  signified  to  the  dowager  that  all  objection  to  Sarah 
Thompson  would  be  withdrawn. 

"Ah!  I  was  sure  he  would  agree  with  me,"  said  her 
ladyship,  "  when  he  learned  what  sort  of  person  she  is.  I 
knew  I  had  only  to  explain ;"  and  then  she  plumed  her 
feathers,  and  was  very  gracious ;  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  Lady 
Lufton  did  not  like  to  be  opposed  in  things  which  concern- 
ed the  parish  nearly. 

"  And,  Fanny,"  said  Lady  Lufton,  in  her  kindest  man  . 
ner,  "  you  are  not  going  any  where  on  Saturday,  are  you  ?" 

"  No,  I  think  not." 

"Then  you  must  come  to  us.  Justinia  is  to  be  here, 
you  know" — Lady  Meredith  was  named  Justinia — "and 
you  and  Mr.  Robarts  had  better  stay  with  us  till  Monday. 


16  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

He  can  have  the  little  book-room  all  to  himself  on  Sunday. 
The  Merediths  go  on  Monday ;  and  Justinia  won't  be  hap- 
-pj  if  you  are  not  with  her." 

It  would  be  unjust  to  say  that  Lady  Lufton  had  determ- 
ined not  to  invite  theliobarts's  if  she  were  not  allowed  to 
have  her  own  way  about  Sarah  Thompson.  But  such 
would  have  been  the  result.  As  it  was,  however,  she  was 
all  kindness ;  and  when  Mrs.  Robarts  made  some  little  ex- 
cuse, saying  that  she  was  afraid  she  must  return  home  in 
the  evening  because  of  the  children.  Lady  Lufton  declared 
that  there  was  room  enough  at  Framley  Court  for  baby 
and  nurse,  and  so  settled  the  matter  in  her  own  way,  with 
a  couple  of  nods  and  three  taps  of  her  umbrella. 

This  was  on  Tuesday  morning,  and  on  the  same  evening, 
before  dinner,  the  vicar  again  seated  himself  in  the  same 
chair  before  the  drawing-room  fire,  as  soon  as  he  had  seen 
his  horse  led  into  the  stable. 

"Mark,"  said  his  wife,  "the  Merediths  are  to  be  at 
Framley  on  Saturday  and  Sunday ;  and  I  have  promised 
that  we  will  go  up  and  stay  over  till  Monday." 

"  You  don't  mean  it !  Goodness  gracious,  how  provok- 
ing!" 

"  Why  ?  I  thought  you  wouldn't  mind  it.  And  Jus- 
tinia would  think  it  unkind  if  I  were  not  there." 

"  You  can  go,  my  dear,  and  of  course  will  go.  But  as 
for  me,  it  is  impossible." 

"But  why,  love?" 

"  Why  ?  Just  now,  at  the  school-house,  I  answered  a 
letter  that  was  brought  to  me  from  Chaldicotes.  Sowerby 
insists  on  ray  going  over  there  for  a  week  or  so;  and  I 
have  said  that  I  would." 

"  Go  to  Chaldicotes  for  a  week,  Mark  ?" 

"  I  believe  I  have  even  consented  to  ten  days." 

"  And  be  away  two  Sundays  ?" 

"  No,  Fanny,  only  one.     Don't  be  so  censorious." 

"Don't  call  me  censorious,  Mark;  you  know  I  am  not 
so.  But  I  am  so  sorry.  It  is  just  what  Lady  Lufton 
•won't  like.  Besides,  you  were  away  in  Scotland  two  Sun- 
days last  month." 

"  In  September,  Fanny.     And  that  is  being  censorious." 

"Oh,  but,  Mark,  dear  Mark!  don't  say  so.  You  know 
I  don't  mean  it.  But  Lady  Lufton  does  not  like  those 
Chaldicotes  people.     You  know  Lord  Lufton  was  with 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  17 

you  the  last  time  you  were  there ;  and  how  annoyed  she 
was !" 

"  Lord  Lufton  won't  be  with  me  now,  for  he  is  still  in 
Scotland.  And  the  reason  why  I  am  going  is  this :  Har- 
old Smith  and  his  wife  will  be  there,  and  I  am  very  anx- 
ious to  know  more  *of  them.  I  have  no  doubt  that  Harold 
Smith  will  be  in  the  government  some  day,  and  I  can  not 
afford  to  neglect  such  a  man's  acquaintance." 

"  But,  Mark,  what  do  you  want  of  any  government  ?'* 

"  Well,  Fanny,  of  course  I  am  bound  to  say  that  I  want 
nothing;  neither  in  one  sense  do  I;  but  nevertheless  I 
shall  go  and  meet  the  Harold  Smiths." 

"  Could  you  not  be  back  before  Sunday  ?" 

"I  have  promised  to  preach  at  Chaldicotes.  Harold 
Smith  is  going  to  lecture  at  Barchester  about  the  Austral- 
asian archipelago,  and  I  am  to  preach  a  charity  sermon  on 
the  same  subject.  They  want  to  send  out  more  missiona- 
ries." 

*'  A  charity  sermon  at  Chaldicotes !" 

"  And  why  not  ?  The  house  will  be  quite  full,  you  know ; 
and  I  dare  say  the  Arabins  will  be  there." 

"  I  think  not ;  Mrs.  Arabin  may  get  on  Avith  Mrs.  Harold 
Smith,  though  I  doubt  that ;  but  I'm  sure  she's  not  fond 
of  Mrs.  Smith's  brother.  I  don't  think  she  would  stay  at 
Chaldicotes." 

"And  the  bishop  will  i^robably  be  there  for  a  day  or 
two." 

"  That  is  much  more  likely,  Mark.  If  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  Mrs.  Proudie  is  taking  you  to  Chaldicotes,  I  have 
not  a  word  more  to  say." 

"  I  am  not  a  bit  more  fond  of  Mrs.  Proudie  than  you 
are,  Fanny,"  said  the  vicar,  wuth  something  like  vexation 
in  the  tone  of  his  voice,  for  he  thought  that  his  wife  was 
hard  upon  him.  "  But  it  is  generally  thought  that  a  parish 
clergyman  docs  well  to  meet  his  bishop  now  and  then. 
And  as  I  was  invited  there  especially  to  preach  while  all 
these  people  are  staying  at  the  place,  I  could  not  well  re- 
fuse." And  then  he  got  up,  and,  taking  his  candlestick,  es-. 
caped  to  his  dressing-room. 

"  But  what  am  I  to  say  to  Lady  Lufton  ?"  his  wife  said 
to  him  in  the  course  of  the  evening. 

"  Just  write  her  a  note,  and  tell  her  that  you  find  T  had 
promised  to  preach  at  Chaldicotes  next  Sunday.  You'll 
go,  of  course." 


18  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

"  Yes :  but  I  know  she'll  be  annoyed.  You  were  away 
the  last  time  she  had  people  there." 

"  It  can't  be  helped.  She  must  put  it  down  against  Sa- 
rah Thompson.     She  ought  not  to  expect  to  win  always." 

"  I  should  not  have  minded  it  if  she  had  lost,  as  you  call 
it,  about  Sarah  Thompson.  That  was  a  case  in  which  you 
ought  to  have  had  your  own  way." 

"  And  this  other  is  a  case  in  which  I  shall  have  it.  It's 
a  pity  that  there  should  be  such  a  difference — isn't  it  ?" 

Then  the  wife  perceived  that,  vexed  as  she  was,  it  would 
be  better  that  she  should  say  nothing  farther ;  and  before 
she  went  to  bed  she  wrote  the  note  to  Lady  Lufton,  as  her 
husband  recommended. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   FRAMLEY    SET   AND   THE   CHALDICOTES   SET. 

It  will  be  necessary  that  I  should  say  a  word  or  two  of 
some  of  the  people  named  in  the  few  preceding  pages,  and 
also  of  the  localities  in  which  they  lived. 

Of  Lady  Lufton  herself  enough,  perhaps,  has  been  writ- 
ten to  introduce  her  to  our  readers.  The  Framley  proper- 
ty belonged  to  her  son ;  but  as  Lufton  Park — an  ancient 
ramshackle  place  in  another  county — had  heretofore  been 
the  family  residence  of  the  Lufton  family,  Framley  Court 
had  been  apportioned  to  her  for  her  residence  for  life.  Lord 
Lufton  himself  was  still  unmarried ;  and  as  he  had  no  es- 
tablishment at  Lufton  Park — which,  indeed,  had  not  been  in- 
habited since  his  grandfather  died — he  lived  with  his  moth- 
er when  it  suited  him  to  live  any  where  in  that  neighbor- 
hood. The  widow  would  fain  have  seen  more  of  him  than 
lie  allowed  her  to  do.  He  had  a  shooting-lodge  in  Scot- 
land, and  apartments  in  London,  and  a  string  of  horses  in 
Leicestershire ;  much  to  the  disgust  of  the  county  gentry 
around  him,  who  held  that  their  own  hunting  was  as  good 
as  any  that  England  could  afford.  His  lordship,  however, 
paid  his  subscription  to  the  East  Barsetshire  pack,  and 
then  thought  himself  at  liberty  to  follow  his  own  pleasure 
as  to  his  own  amusement. 

Framley  itself  was  a  pleasant  country  place,  having  about 
it  nothing  of  seigniorial  dignity  or  grandeur,  but  possess- 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  19 

ing  every  thing  necessary  for  the  comfort  of  country  life. 
The  house  was  a  low  building  of  two  stories,  built  at  dif- 
ferent periods,  and  devoid  of  all  pretensions  to  any  style 
of  architecture;  but  the  rooms,  though  not  lofty,  were 
warm  and  comfortable,  and  the  gardens  were  trim  and 
neat  beyond  all  others  in  the  county.  Indeed,  it  was  for 
its  gardens  only  that  Framley  Court  was  celebrated. 

Village  there  was  none,  properly  speaking.  The  high 
road  went  winding  about  through  the  Framley  paddocks, 
shrubberies,  and  wood-skirted  home-fields,  for  a  mile  and  a 
half,  not  two  hundred  yards  of  which  ran  in  a  straight 
line;  and  there  was  a  cross-road  which  joassed  down 
through  the  domain,  whereby  there  came  to  be  a  locality 
called  Framley  Cross.  Here  stood  the  "Lufton  Arms," 
and  here,  at  Framley  Cross,  the  hounds  occasionally  would 
meet ;  for  the  Framley  woods  were  drawn,  in  spite  of  the 
young  lord's  truant  disposition ;  and  then,  at  the  Cross 
also,  lived  the  shoemaker,  who  kept  the  post-office. 

Framley  church  was  distant  from  this  just  a  quarter  of 
a  mile,  and  stood  immediately  opposite  to  the  chief  en- 
trance to  Framley  Court.  It  was  but  a  mean,  ugly  build- 
ing, having  been  erected  about  a  hundred  years  since,  w^hen 
all  churches  then  built  were  made  to  be  mean  and  ugly ; 
nor  was  it  large  enough  for  the  congregation,  some  of 
whom  were  thus  driven  to  the  dissenting  chapels,  the  Si- 
ons  and  Ebenezers,  which  had  got  themselves  established 
on  each  side  of  the  parish,  in  putting  down  which  Lady 
Lufton  thought  that  her  pet  parson  was  hardly  as  energet- 
ic as  he  might  be.  It  was,  therefore,  a  matter  near  to  Lady 
Lufton's  heart  to  see  a  new  church  built,  and  she  was  urg- 
ent in  her  eloquence,  both  with  her  son  and  with  the  vicar, 
to  have  this  good  work  commenced. 

Beyond  the  church,  but  close  to  it,  were  the  boys'  school 
and  girls'  school,  two  distinct  buildings,  which  owed  their 
erection  to  Lady  Lufton's  energy ;  then  came  a  neat  little 
grocer's  shop,  the  neat  grocer  being  the  clerk  and  sexton, 
and  the  neat  grocer's  wife  the  pew-opener  in  the  church. 
Podgens  was  their  name,  and  they  were  great  favorites 
with  her  ladyship,  both  having  been  servants  up  at  the 
house. 

And  here  the  road  took  a  sudden  turn  to  the  left,  turn- 
ing, as  it  were,  away  from  Framley  Court ;  and  just  be- 
yond the  turn  was  the  vicarage,  so  that  there  was  a  little 


20  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

garden-path  running  from  the  back  of  the  vicarage-grounds 
into  the  church-yard,  cutting  the  Podgens's  off  into  an  iso- 
lated corner  of  their  own  ;  from  whence,  to  tell  the  truth, 
the  vicar  would  have  been  glad  to  banish  them  and  their 
cabbages,  could  he  have  had  the  power  to  do  so.  For  has 
not  the  small  vineyard  of  Naboth  been  always  an  eyesore 
to  neighboring  potentates  ? 

The  potentate  in  this  case  had  as  little  excuse  as  Ahab, 
for  nothing  in  the  parsonage  way  could  be  more  perfect 
than  his  parsonage.  It  had  all  the  details  requisite  for  the 
house  of  a  moderate  gentleman  with  moderate  means,  and 
none  of  those  expensive  superfluities  which  immoderate 
gentlemen  demand,  or  which  themselves  demand  immod- 
erate means.  And  then  the  gardens  and  paddocks  were 
exactly  suited  to  it ;  and  every  thing  was  in  good  order ; 
not  exactly  new,  so  as  to  be  raw  and  uncovered,  and  redo- 
lent of  workmen,  but  just  at  that  era  of  their  existence  in 
which  newness  gives  way  to  comfortable  homeliness. 

Other  village  at  Framley  there  was  none.  At  the  back 
of  the  Court,  up  one  of  those  cross-roads,  there  was  anoth- 
er small  shop  or  two,  and  there  was  a  very  neat  cottage 
residence,  in  which  lived  the  widow  of  a  former  curate, 
another  'protegee  of  Lady  Lufton's ;  and  there  was  a  big, 
staring  brick  house,  in  which  the  present  curate  lived ;  but 
this  was  a  full  mile  distant  from  the  church,  and  farther 
from  Framley  Court,  standing  on  that  cross-road  which  runs 
from  Framley  Cross  in  a  direction  aw^ay  from  the  mansion. 
This  gentleman,  the  Rev.  Evan  Jones,  might,  from  his  age, 
have  been  the  vicar's  father ;  but  he  had  been  for  many 
years  curate  of  Framley ;  and  though  he  was  personally 
disliked  by  Lady  Lufton,  as  being  Low  Church  in  his  prin- 
ciples, and  unsightly  in  his  appearance,  nevertheless  she 
would  not  urge  his  removal.  He  had  two  or  three  pupils 
in  that  large  brick  house,  and  if  turned  out  from  these  and 
from  his  curacy,  might  find  it  difficult  to  establish  himself 
elsewhere.  On  this  account  mercy  was  extended  to  the 
Rev.  E.  Jones,  and,  in  spite  of  his  red  face  and  awkward 
big  feet,  he  w'as  invited  to  dine  at  Framley  Court,  with 
his  plain  daughter,  once  in  every  three  months. 

Over  and  above  these,  there  was  hardly  a  house  in  the 
parish  of  Framley,  outside  the  bounds  of  Framley  Court, 
except  those  of  farmers  and  farm  laborers ;  and  yet  the 
parish  was  of  large  extent. 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  21 

Framley  is  in  the  eastern  division  of  the  county  of  Bar- 
setshire,  which,  as  all  the  world  knows,  is,  politically  speak- 
ing, as  true  blue  a  county  as  any  in  England.  There  have 
been  backslidings  even  here,  it  is  true ;  but  then,  in  what 
county  have  there  not  been  such  backslidings  ?  Where,  in 
these  pinchbeck  days,  can  we  hope  to  find  the  old  agricul- 
tural virtue  in  all  its  purity?  But,  among  those  back- 
sliders, I  regret  to  say  that  men  now  reckon  Lord  Lufton. 
Not  that  he  is  a  violent  Whig,  or  perhaps  that  he  is  a  Whig 
at  all.  But  he  jeers  and  sneers  at  the  old  county  doings ; 
declares,  when  solicited  on  the  subject,  that,  as  far  as  he  is 
concerned,  Mr.  Bright  may  sit  for  the  county  if  he  pleases ; 
and  alleges  that,  being  unfortunately  a  peer,  he  has  no  right 
even  to  interest  himself  in  the  question.  All  this  is  deeply 
regretted,  for,  in  the  old  days,  there  was  no  portion  of  the 
county  more  decidedly  true  blue  than  that  Framley  dis- 
trict ;  and,  indeed,  up  to  the  present  day,  the  dowager  is 
able  to  give  an  occasional  helping  hand. 

Chaldicotes  is  the  seat  of  Nathaniel  Sowerby,  Esq.,  who, 
at  the  moment  supposed  to  be  now  present,  is  one  of  the 
members  for  the  Western  Division  of  Barsetshire.  But 
this  western  division  can  boast  none  of  the  fine  politic.'^l 
attributes  which  grace  its  twin  brother.  It  is  decidedly 
Whig,  and  is  almost  governed  in  its  politics  by  one  or  two 
great  Whig  families. 

It  has  been  said  that  Mark  Robarts  was  about  to  pay  a 
visit  to  Chaldicotes,  and  it  has  been  hinted  that  his  Avife 
would  have  been  as  well  pleased  had  this  not  been  the 
case.  Such  was  certainly  the  fact ;  for  she,  dear,  prudent, 
excellent  wife  as  she  was,  knew  that  Mr.  Sowerby  was  not 
the  most  eligible  friend  in  the  world  for  a  young  clergy- 
man, and  knew,  also,  that  there  was  but  one  other  house  in 
the  whole  county  the  name  of  which  was  so  distasteful  to 
Lady  Lufton.  The  reasons  for  this  were,  I  may  say,  man- 
ifold. In  the  first  place,  Mr.  Sowerby  was  a  Whig,  and 
was  seated  in  Parliament  mainly  by  the  interest  of  that 
great  Whig  autocrat  the  Duke  of  Omnium,  whose  resi- 
dence was  more  dangerous  even  than  that  of  Mr.  Sowerby, 
and  whom  Lady  Lufton  regarded  as  an  impersonation  of 
Lucifer  upon  earth.  Mr.  Sowerby,  too,  was  unmarried — as 
indeed,  also,  was  Lord  Lufton,  much  to  his  mother's  grief. 
Mr.  Sowerby,  it  is  true,  was  fifty,  whereas  the  young  lord 
was  as  yet  only  twenty-six ;  but,  nevertheless,  her  ladyship 


22  FHAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

was  becoming  anxious  on  the  subject.  In  her  mind  every 
man  was  bound  to  marry  as  soon  as  he  could  maintain  a 
wife ;  and  she  held  an  idea — a  quite  private  tenet,  of  which 
she  was  herself  but  imperfectly  conscious — that  men  in 
general  were  inclined  to  neglect  this  duty  for  their  own 
selfish  gratifications,  that  the  Avicked  ones  encouraged  the 
more  innocent  in  this  neglect,  and  that  many  would  not 
marry  at  all,  were  not  an  unseen  coercion  exercised  against 
them  by  the  other  sex.  The  Duke  of  Omnium  was  the 
very  head  of  all  such  sinners,  and  Lady  Lufton  greatly 
feared  that  her  son  might  be  made  subject  to  the  baneful 
Omnium  influence,  by  means  of  Mr.  Sowerby  and  Chaldi- 
cotes. 

And  then  Mr.  Sowerby  was  known  to  be  a  very  poor 
man,  with  a  very  large  estate.  He  had  Avasted,  men  said, 
much  on  electioneering,  and  more  in  gambling.  A  consid- 
erable portion  of  his  property  had  already  gone  into  the 
hands  of  the  duke,  who,  as  a  rule,  bought  up  every  thing 
around  him  that  was  to  be  purchased.  Indeed,  it  was  said 
of  him  by  his  enemies,  that  so  covetous  w^as  he  of  Barset- 
shire  property,  that  he  would  lead  a  young  neighbor  on  to 
his  ruin,  in  order  that  he  might  get  his  land.  What — oh  ! 
what  if  he  should  come  to  be  possessed  in  this  way  of  any 
of  the  fair  acres  of  Framley  Court  ?  What  if  he  should 
become  possessed  of  them  all  ?  It  can  hardly  be  wonder- 
ed at  that  Lady  Lufton  should  not  like  Chaldicotes  ? 

The  Chaldicotes  set,  as  Lady  Lufton  called  them,  were 
in  every  way  opposed  to  what  a  set  should  be  according 
to  her  ideas.  She  liked  cheerful,  quiet,  well-to-do  peoi)le, 
who  loved  their  Church,  their  country,  and  their  queen,  and 
who  were  not  too  anxious  to  make  a  noise  in  the  world. 
She  desired  that  all  the  farmers  round  her  should  be  able 
to  pay  their  rents  without  trouble,  that  all  the  old  women 
should  have  warm  flannel  petticoats,  that  the  w^orking-men 
should  be  saved  from  rheumatism  by  healthy  food  and  dry 
houses ;  that  they  should  all  be  obedient  to  their  pastors 
and  masters — temporal  as  well  as  spiritual.  That  was  her 
idea  of  loving  her  country.  She  desired  also  that  the 
copses  shouldbe  full  of  pheasants,  the  stubble-field  of  par- 
tridges, and  the  gorse  covers  of  foxes ;  in  that  way,  also, 
she  loved  her  country.  She  had  ardently  longed,  during 
that  Crimean  war,  that  the  Russians  might  be  beaten — but 
not  by  the  French,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  English,  as  had 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  23 

seemed  to  her  to  be  too  much  the  case ;  and  hardly  by  the 
English  under  the  dictatorship  of  Lord  Palmerston.  In- 
deed, she  had  had  but  little  faith  in  that  war  after  Lord 
Aberdeen  had  been  expelled.  If,  indeed,  Lord  Derby  could 
have  come  in ! 

But  now  as  to  this  Chaldicotes  set.  After  all,  there  was 
nothing  so  very  dangerous  about  them ;  for  it  w^as  in  Lon- 
don, not  in  the  country,  that  Mr.  Sowerby  indulged,  if  he 
did  indulge,  his  bachelor  malpractices.  Speaking  of  them 
as  a  set,  the  chief  oifender  w^as  Mr.  Harold  Smith,  or  per- 
haps his  wife.  He  also  Avas  a  member  of  Parliament,  and, 
as  many  thought,  a  rising  man.  His  father  had  been  for 
many  years  a  debater  in  the  House,  and  had  held  high  of- 
fice. Harold,  in  early  life,  had  intended  liimself  for  the 
cabinet;  and  if  working  hard  at  his  trade  could  insure  suc- 
cess, he  ought  to  obtain  it  sooner  or  later.  He  had  already 
filled  more  than  one  subordinate  station,  had  been  at  the 
Treasury,  and  for  a  month  or  two  at  the  Admiralty,  aston- 
ishing official  mankind  by  his  diligence.  Those  last-named 
few  months  had  been  under  Lord  Aberdeen,  with  whom 
he  had  been  forced  to  retire.  He  was  a  younger  son,  and 
not  possessed  of  any  large  fortune.  Politics  as  a  profes- 
sion was  therefore  of  importance  to  him.  He  had  in  early 
life  married  a  sister  of  Mr.  Sowerby ;  and  as  the  lady  was 
some  six  or  seven  years  older  than  himself,  and  had  brought 
with  her  but  a  scanty  dowry,  people  thought  that  in  this 
matter  Mr. Harold  Smith  had  not  been  perspicacious.  Mr. 
Harold  Smith  w^as  not  personally  a  popular  man  with  any 
party,  though  some  judged  him  to  be  eminently  useful. 
He  was  laborious,  well-informed,  and,  on  the  whole,  honest; 
but  he  Avas  conceited,  long-winded,  and  pompous. 

Mrs.  Harold  Smith  was  the  very  opposite  of  her  lord. 
She  w^as  a  clever,  bright  woman,  good-looking  for  her  time 
of  life — and  she  was  now  over  forty — with  a  keen  sense 
of  the  value  of  all  w^orldly  things,  and  a  keen  relish  for  all 
the  world's  pleasures.  She  was  neither  laborious  nor  well- 
informed,  nor  perhaps  altogether  honest — what  woman 
ever  understood  the  necessity  or  recognized  the  advantage 
of  political  honesty  ? — but  then  she  was  neither  dull  nor 
pompous,  and  if  she  was  conceited  she  did  not  show  it. 
She  was  a  disappointed  woman  as  regards  her  husband ; 
seeing  that  she  had  married  him  on  the  speculation  that 
he  would  at  once  become  politically  important ;  and  as  yet 


24  FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

Mr.  Smith  had  not  quite  fulfilled  the  prophecies  of  his  ear- 
ly life. 

And  Lady  Lufton,  when  she  spoke  of  the  Chaldicotes 
set,  distinctly  included,  in  her  own  mind,  the  Bishop  of 
Barchester,  and  his  wife  and  daughter.  Seeing  that  Bish- 
op Proudie  was,  of  course,  a  man  much  addicted  to  religion 
and  to  religious  thinking,  and  that  Mr.  Sowerby  himself 
had  no  peculiar  religious  sentiments  whatever,  there  would 
not  at  first  sight  appear  to  be  ground  for  much  intercourse, 
and  perhaps  there  was  not  much  of  such  intercourse ;  but 
Mrs.  Proudie  and  Mrs.  Harold  Smith  were  firm  friends  of 
four  or  five  years'  standing — ever  since  the  Proudies  came 
into  the  diocese,  and  therefore  the  bishop  w^as  usually  taken 
to  Chaldicotes  whenever  Mrs.  Smith  paid  her  brother  a 
visit.  Now  Bishop  Proudie  was  by  no  means  a  High- 
Church  dignitary,  and  Lady  Lufton  had  never  forgiven 
him  for  coming  into  that  diocese.  She  had,  instinctively, 
a  high  respect  for  the  episcopal  ofiice ;  but  of  Bishop  Prou- 
die himself  she  hardly  thought  better  than  she  did  of  Mr. 
Sowerby,  or  of  that  fabricator  of  evil,  the  Duke  of  Omnium. 
Whenever  Mr.  Robarts  would  plead  that  in  going  any 
where  he  would  have  the  benefit  of  meeting  the  bishop, 
Lady  Lufton  would  slightly  curl  her  upper  lip.  She  could 
not  say  in  words  that  Bishop  Proudie — bishop  as  lie  cer- 
tainly must  be  called — was  no  better  than  he  ought  to  be ; 
but  by  that  curl  of  her  lip  she  did  explain  to  those  who 
knew  her  that  such  was  the  inner  feeling  of  her  heart. 

And  then  it  was  understood — Mark  Robarts,  at  least,  had 
so  heard,  and  the  information  soon  reached  Framley  Court 
— that  Mr.  Supplehouse  was  to  make  one  of  the  Chaldi- 
cotes party.  Now  Mr.  Suj^plehouse  was  a  woi'se  compan- 
ion for  a  gentlemanlike,  young,  High-Church,  conservative 
county  parson  than  even  Harold  Smith.  He  also  was  in 
Parliament,  and  had  been  extolled  during  the  early  days 
of  that  Russian  war  by  some  portion  of  the  metropolitan 
daily  press  as  the  only  man  who  could  save  the  country. 
Let  him  be  in  the  ministry,  the  Japiter  had  said,  and  there 
w^ould  be  some  hope  of  reform,  some  chance  that  England's 
ancient  glory  would  not  be  allowed  in  these  perilous  times 
to  go  headlong  to  oblivion.  And  upon  this  the  ministry,  not 
anticipating  much  salvation  from  Mr.  Supplehouse,  but  will- 
ing, as  they  usually  are,  to  have  the  Jupiter  at  their  back, 
did  send  for  that  gentleman,  and  gave  him  some  footing 


FRAMLEY    PAKSONAGE.  25 

among  them.  But  how  can  a  man  born  to  save  a  nation, 
and  to  lead  a  people,  be  content  to  fill  the  chair  of  an  im- 
der-secretary  ?  Supplehouse  was  not  content,  and  soon 
gave  it  to  be  understood  that  his  place  was  much  higher 
than  any  yet  tendered  to  him.  The  seals  of  high  office,  or 
war  to  the  knife,  w^as  the  alternative  which  he  offered  to  a 
much-belabored  head  of  affairs — nothing  doubting  that  the 
head  of  affairs  would  recognize  the  claimant's  value,  and 
would  have  before  his  eyes  a  wholesome  fear  of  the  Jupi- 
ter. But  the  head  of  affairs,  much  belabored  as  he  was, 
knew  that  he  might  pay  too  high  even  for  Mr.  Supplehouse 
and  the  Jupiter  j  and  the  savior  of  the  nation  was  told 
that  he  might  swing  his  tomahawk.  Since  that  time  he 
had  been  swinging  his  tomahawk,  but  not  with  so  much 
cficct  as  had  been  anticipated.  He  also  was  very  intimate 
with  Mr.  Sowerby,  and  was  decidedly  one  of  the  Chaldi- 
cotes  set. 

And  there  were  many  others  included  in  the  stigma 
whose  sins  were  political  or  religious  rather  than  moral. 
But  they  were  gall  and  wormwood  to  Lady  Lufton,  who 
regarded  them  as  children  of  the  Lost  One,  and  who  grieved 
with  a  mother's  grief  when  she  knew  that  her  son  was 
among  them,  and  felt  all  a  patron's  anger  when  she  heard 
that  her  clerical  protege,  was  about  to  seek  such  society. 
Mrs.  Robarts  might  well  say  that  Lady  Lufton  would  be 
annoyed. 

"You  Avon't  call" at  the  house  before  you  go,  will  you?" 
the  wife  asked  on  the  following  morning.  ITc  was  to  start 
after  lunch  on  that  day,  driving  himself  in  Iiis  own  gig,  so 
as  to  reach  Chaldicotes,  some  twenty-four  miles  distant, 
before  dinner. 

"  No,  I  think  not.     What  good  should  I  do  ?" 

"  Well,  I  can't  explain ;  but  I  think  I  should  call ;  part- 
ly, perhaps,  to  show  her  that  as  I  had  determined  to  go,  I 
was  not  afraid  of  telling  her  so." 

"Afraid!  That's  nonsense,  Fanny.  I'm  not  afraid  of 
her.  But  I  don't  see  why  I  should  bring  down  upon  my- 
self the  disagreeable  things  she  will  say.  Besides,  I  have 
not  time.  I  must  Avalk  up  and  see  Jones  about  the  duties; 
and  then,  what  with  getting  ready,  I  shall  have  enough  to 
do  to  get  of!'  in  time." 

He  paid  his  visit  to  Mr.  Jones,  the  curate,  feeling  no 
qualms  of  conscience  there,  as  he  rather  boasted  of  all  thf, 

B 


26  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

members  of  Pavliameut  he  was  going  to  meet,  and  of  the 
bishop  who  would  be  with  them.  Mr.  Evan  Jones  was 
only  his  curate,  and  in  speaking  to  him  on  the  matter  he 
could  talk  as  though  it  were  quite  the  proper  thing  for  a 
vicar  to  meet  his  bishop  at  the  house  of  a  county  member. 
And  one  would  be  inclined  to  say  that  it  was  proper :  only 
why  could  he  not  talk  of  it  in  the  same  tone  to  Lady  Luf- 
ton  ?  And  then,  having  kissed  his  wife  and  children,  he 
drove  ofi*  well  pleased  with  his  prospect  for  the  coming 
ten  days,  but  already  anticipating  some  discomfort  on  his 
return. 

On  the  three  following  days  Mrs.  Robarts  did  not  meet 
her  ladyship.  She  did  not  exactly  take  any  steps  to  avoid 
such  a  meeting,  but  she  did  not  purposely  go  up  to  the 
big  house.  She  went  to  her  school  as  usual,  and  made  one 
or  two  calls  among  the  farmers'  wives,  but  put  no  foot 
within  the  Framley  Court  grounds.  She  was  braver  than 
her  husband,  but  even  she  did  not  wish  to  anticipate  the 
avil  day. 

On  the  Saturday,  just  before  it  began  to  get  dusk,  when 
she  was  tliinking  of  preparing  for  the  fatal  plunge,  her 
friend.  Lady  Meredith,  came  to  her. 

"  So,  Fanny,  we  shall  again  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  miss 
Mr.  Robarts,"  said  her  ladyshij^. 

"  Yes.  Did  you  ever  know  any  thing  so  unlucky  ?  But 
lie  had  promised  Mr.  Sowerby  before  he  heard  that  you 
were  coming.  Pray  do  not  think  that  he  would  have  gone 
away  had  he  known  it." 

"  We  should  have  been  sorry  to  keep  him  from  so  much 
more  amusing  a  party." 

"  Kow,  Justinia,  you  are  imfair.  You  intend  to  imply 
that  he  has  gone  to  Chaldicotes  because  he  likes  it  better 
than  Framley  Court;  but  that  is  not  the  case.  I  hope 
Lady  Lufton  does  not  think  that  it  is." 

Lady  Meredith  laughed  as  she  put  her  arm  round  her 
friend's  waist.  "Don't  lose  your  eloquence  in  defending 
him  to  me,"  she  said.  "You'll  want  all  that  for  my 
mother." 

"  But  is  your  mother  angry  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Robarts,  show- 
ing by  her  countenance  hoAv  eager  she  was  for  true  tidings 
on  the  subject. 

"Well,  Fanny,  you  know  her  ladyship  as  well  as  I 
do.     She  thinks  so  very  highly  of  the  vicar  of  Framley 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  27 

that  she  does  begrudge  him  to  those  politicians  at  Chaldi- 
cotes." 

"  But,  Justinia,  the  bishop  is  to  be  there,  you  know." 

"  I  don't  think  that  that  consideration  will  at  all  recon- 
cile my  mother  to  the  gentleman's  absence.  He  ought  to 
be  very  proud,  I  know,  to  find  that  he  is  so  much  thought 
of.  But  come,  Fanny,  I  want  you  to  walk  back  with  me, 
and  you  can  dress  at  the  house.  And  now  \\e'll  go  and 
look  at  the  children." 

After  that,  as  they  walked  together  to  Framley  Court, 
Mrs.  Robarts  made  her  friend  promise  that  she  would 
stand  by  her  if  any  serious  attack  were  made  on  the  ab- 
sent clergyman. 

"Are  you  going  up  to  your  room  at  once?"  said  the 
vicar's  wife,  as  soon  as  they  were  inside  the  porch  leading 
into  the  hall.  Lady  Meredith  immediately  knew  what  her 
friend  meant,  and  decided  that  the  evil  day  should  not  be 
postponed.  "  We  had  better  go  in,  and  have  it  over,"  she 
said,  "  and  then  we  shall  be  comfortable  for  the  evening." 
So  the  drawing-room  door  was  opened,  and  there  was  Lady 
Lufton  alone  upon  the  sofa. 

"  Now,  mamma,"  said  the  daughter,  *'  you  mustn't  scold 
Fanny  much  about  Mr.  Robarts.  He  has  gone  to  preach 
a  charity  sermon  before  the  bishop,  and  under  those  cir- 
cumstances, perhaps,  he  could  not  refuse."  This  was  a 
stretch  on  the  part  of  Lady  Meredith — put  in  witli  much 
good-nature,  no  doubt,  but  still  a  stretch ;  for  no  one  had 
supposed  that  the  bishop  would  remain  at  Chaldicotes  for 
the  Sunday. 

"How  do  you  do,  Fanny?"  said  Lady  Lufton,  getting 
up.  "  I  am  not  going  to  scold  her ;  and  I  don't  know  how 
you  can  talk  such  nonsense,  Justinia.  Of  course,  we  are 
very  sorry  not  to  have  Mr.  Robarts,  more  especially  as  he 
was  not  here  the  last  Sunday  that  Sir  George  was  with 
us.  I  do  like  to  see  Mr.  Robarts  in  his  own  church,  cer- 
tainly ;  and  I  don't  like  any  other  clergyman  there  as  well. 
If  Fanny  takes  that  for  scolding,  why — " 

"  Oh  no,  Lady  Lufton  ;  and  it's  so  kind  of  you  to  say  so. 
But  Mr.  Robarts  was  so  sorry  that  he  had  accepted  this 
invitation  to  Chaldicotes  before  he  heard  that  Sir  George 
was  coming,  and — " 

"  Oh,  I  know  that  Chaldicotes  has  great  attractions  which 
we  can  not  offer,"  said  Lady  Lufton. 


28  FRAMLEY    PAESOXAGE. 

"  Indeed,  it  was  not  that.  But  he  was  asked  to  preach, 
you  know ;  and  Mr.  Harold  Smith — "  Poor  Fanny  was 
only  making  it  worse.  Had  she  been  worldly  wise,  she 
would  have  accepted  the  little  compliment  implied  in  Lady 
Lufton's  first  rebuke,  and  then  have  held  her  peace. 

"  Oh,  yes,  the  Harold  Smiths !  they  are  irresistible,  I 
know:  How  could  any  man  refuse  to  join  a  party  graced 
both  by  Mrs.  Harold  Smith  and  Mrs.  Proudie — even  though 
his  duty  should  require  him  to  stay  away  ?" 

"  Now,  mamma — "  said  Justinia. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  what  am  I  to  say  ?  You  would  not 
wish  me  to  tell  a  fib.  I  don't  like  Mrs.  Harold  Smith — at 
least,  what  I  hear  of  her ;  for  it  has  not  been  my  fortune 
to  meet  her  since  her  marriage.  It  may  be  conceited ; 
but,  to  own  tlie  truth,  I  think  that  Mr.  Robarts  Avould  be 
better  ofl:'  with  us  at  Framley  than  with  the  Harold  Smiths 
at  Chaldicotes,  even  though  Mrs.  Proudie  be  thrown  into 
the  bargain." 

It  was  nearly  dark,  and  tlierefore  the  rising  color  in  the 
face  of  Mrs.  Robarts  could  not  be  seen.  She,  however, 
was  too  good  a  wife  to  hear  these  things  said  without 
some  anger  within  her  bosom.  She  could  blame  her  hus- 
band in  her  own  mind,  but  it  was  intolerable  to  her  that 
others  should  blame  him  in  her  hearing. 

"He  would  undoubtedly  be  better  oflf,"  she  said;  "but 
then.  Lady  Lufton,  people  can't  always  go  exactly  where 
they  will  be  best  ofi*.     Gentlemen  sometimes  must — " 

"  Well,  Avell,  my  dear,  that  will  do.  He  has  not  taken 
you,  at  any  rate,  and  so  we  will  forgive  him."  And  Lady 
Lufton  kissed  her.  "As  it  is" — and  she  aflfected  a  low 
whisper  between  the  two  young  wives — "  as  it  is,  we  must 
e'en  put  up  with  poor  old  Evan  Jones.  He  is  to  be  here 
to-night,  and  we  must  go  and  dress  to  receive  him." 

And  so  they  went  off.  Lady  Lufton  was  quite  good 
enough  at  heart  to  like  Mrs.  Robarts  all  the  better  for 
standing  up  for  her  ab^iciit  lord. 


FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE.  29 


CHAPTER  III. 

CHALDICOTES. 

Chaldicotes  is  a  house  of  much  more  pretension  than 
Framley  Court.  Indeed,  if  one  looks  at  the  ancient  marks 
about  it  rather  than  at  those  of  the  present  day,  it  is  a 
place  of  very  considerable  pretension.  There  is  an  old 
forest,  not  altogether  belonging  to  the  property,  but  at- 
tached to  it,  called  the  Chase  of  Chaldicotes.  A  portion 
of  this  forest  comes  up  close  behind  the  mansion,  and  of 
itself  gives  a  character  and  celebrity  to  the  place.  The 
Chase  of  Chaldicotes — the  greater  part  of  it,  at  least — is, 
as  all  the  world  knows,  crown  property,  and  now,  in  these 
utilitarian  days,  is  to  be  disforested.  In  former  times  it 
Avas  a  great  forest,  stretching  half  across  the  country,  al- 
most as  far  as  Silverbridge ;  and  there  are  bits  of  it,  here 
and  there,  still  to  be  seen  at  intervals  throughout  the  whole 
distance ;  but  the  larger  remaining  portion,  consisting  of 
aged  hollow  oaks,  centuries  old,  and  wide-spreading  with- 
ered beeches,  stands  in  the  two  parishes  of  Chaldicotes 
and  Uffley.  People  still  come  from  afar  to  see  the  oaks  of 
Chaldicotes,  and  to  hear  their  feet  rustle  among  the  thick 
autumn  leaves.  But  they  will  soon  come  no  longer.  The 
giants  of  past  ages  are  to  give  way  to  wheat  and  turnips ; 
a  ruthless  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  disregarding  old 
associations  and  rural  beauty,  requires  money  returns  from 
the  lands,  and  the  Chase  of  Chaldicotes  is  to  vanish  from 
the  earth's  surface. 

Some  part  of  it,  however,  is  the  private  property  of  Mr. 
Sowerby,  who  hitherto,  through  all  his  pecuniary  distress- 
es, has  managed  to  save  from  the  axe  and  the  auction-mart 
that  portion  of  his  paternal  heritage.  The  house  of  Chal- 
dicotes is  a  large  stone  building,  probably  of  the  time  of 
Charles  the  Second.  It  is  approached  on  both  fronts  by  a 
heavy  double  flight  of  stone  steps.  In  the  front  of  the 
house  a  long,  solemn,  straight  avenue  through  a  double 
row  of  lime-trees  leads  away  to  lodge  gates,  which  stand 
in  the  centre  of  the  village  of  Chaldicotes ;  but  to  the  rear 
the  windows  open  upon  four  different  vistas,  which  run 


30  FUAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

down  through  the  forest :  four  open  green  rides,  which  all 
converge  together  at  a  large  iron  gate-way,  the  barrier 
which  divides  the  private  grounds  from  the  Chase.  The 
Sowerbys,  for  many  generations,  have  been  rangers  of  the 
Chase  of  Chaldicotes,  thus  having  almost  as  wide  an  au- 
thority over  the  crown  forest  as  over  their  own.  But  now 
all  this  is  to  cease,  for  the  forest  will  be  disforested. 

It  w^as  nearly  dark  as  Mark  Robarts  drove  up  through 
the  avenue  of  lime-trees  to  the  hall  door ;  but  it  was  easy 
to  see  that  the  house,  which  was  dead  and  silent  as  the 
grave  through  nine  months  of  the  year,  Avas  now  alive  in 
all  its  parts.  There  were  lights  in  many  of  the  windows, 
and  a  noise  of  voices  came  from  the  stables,  and  servants 
Avere  moving  about,  and  dogs  barked,  and  the  dark  gravel 
before  the  front  steps  was  cut  uj)  with  many  a  coach- 
wheel. 

"  Oil,  be  that  you,  sir,  Mr.  Robarts  ?"  said  a  groom,  tak- 
ing the  parson's  horse  by  the  head,  and  touching  his  own 
hat.     "  I  hope  I  see  your  reverence  well." 

"  Quite  well.  Bob,  thank  you.     All  well  at  Chaldicotes  ?" 

"Pretty  bobbish,  Mr.  Robarts.  Deal  of  life  going  on 
liere  now,  sir.  The  bishop  and  his  lady  came  this  morn- 
ing." 

"Oh — ah — yes.  I  understood  they  Avere  to  be  here. 
Any  of  the  young  ladies  ?" 

"  One  young  lady — Miss  Olivia,  I  think  they  call  her, 
your  reverence." 

"And  how's  Mr.  Sowerby?" 

"  Very  well,  your  reverence.  He,  and  Mr.  Harold  Smith, 
and  Mr.  Fothergill — that's  the  duke's  man  of  business,  you 
know — is  getting  off  their  horses  now  in  the  stable-yard 
there." 

"  Home  from  hunting — eh,  Bob  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  just  home  this  minute."  And  Mr.  Robarts 
Avalked  into  the  house,  his  portmanteau  following  on  a 
foot-boy's  shoulder. 

It  will  be  seen  that  our  young  vicar  was  very  intimate 
at  Chaldicotes ;  so  much  so  that  the  groom  knew  him,  and 
talked  to  him  about  the  people  in  the  house.  Yes,  he  was 
intimate  there — much  more  than  he  had  given  the  Fram- 
ley  people  to  understand.  Not  that  he  had  Avillfully  and 
overtly  deceived  any  one ;  not  that  he  had  ever  spoken  a 
false  Avord  about  Chaldicotes ;  but  he  had  ncA'er  boasted 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  31 

at  home  that  he  and  Sowerby  were  near  allies;  neither 
had  he  told  them  there  how  often  Mr.  Sowerby  and  Lord 
Lufton  were  together  in  London.  Why  trouble  women 
with  such  matters  ?  Why  annoy  so  excellent  a  woman  as 
Lady  Lufton  ? 

And  then  Mr.  Sowerby  was  one  whose  intimacy  few 
young  men  would  wish  to  reject.  He  was  fifty,  and  had 
lived,  perhaps,  not  the  most  salutary  life ;  but  he  dressed 
young,  and  usually  looked  well.  He  was  bald,  with  a 
good  forehead,  and  sparkHng  moist  eyes.  He  was  a  clever 
man  and  a  pleasant  companion,  and  always  good-humored 
when  it  so  suited  him.  He  was  a  gentleman,  too,  of  high 
breeding  and  good  birth,  whose  ancestors  had  been  known 
in  that  county — longer,  the  farmers  around  would  boast, 
than  those  of  any  other  land-owner  in  it,  unless  it  be  the 
Thornes  of  Ullathorne,  or  perhaps  the  Greshams  of  Gresh- 
amsbury — much  longer  than  the  De  Courcys  at  Courcy 
Castle.  As  for  the  Duke  of  Omnium,  he,  comparatively 
speaking,  was  a  new  man. 

And  then  he  was  a  member  of  Parliament,  a  friend  of 
some  men  in  power,  and  of  others  who  might  be  there ;  a 
man  who  could  talk  about  the  world  as  one  knowing  the 
matter  of  which  he  talked.  And,  moreover,  whatever 
might  be  his  ways  of  life  at  other  times,  when  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  clergyman  he  rarely  made  himself  offensive  to 
clerical  tastes.  He  neither  swore,  nor  brought  his  vices 
on  the  carpet,  nor  sneered  at  the  faith  of  the  Church.  If 
he  was  no  Churchman  himself,  he  at  least  knew  how  to 
live  with  those  who  were. 

How  was  it  possible  that  such  a  one  as  our  vicar  should 
not  relish  the  intimacy  of  Mr.  Sowerby?  It  might  be  very 
well,  he  would  say  to  himself,  for  a  woman  like  Lady  Luf- 
ton to  turn  up  her  nose  at  him;  for  Lady  Lufton,  who 
spent  ten  months  of  the  year  at  Framley  Court,  and  who 
during  those  ten  months,  and,  for  the  matter  of  that,  dur- 
ing the  two  months  also  which  she  spent  in  London,  saw 
no  one  out  of  her  own  set.  Women  did  not  understand 
such  things,  the  vicar  said  to  himself;  even  his  own  wife 
— good,  and  nice,  and  sensible,  and  intelligent  as  she  was 
— even  she  did  not  understand  that  a  man  in  the  world 
must  meet  all  sorts  of  men,  and  that  in  these  days  it  did 
not  do  for  a  clergyman  to  be  a  hermit. 

'Twas  thus  that  Mark  Robarts  argued  when  he  found 


32  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

himself  called  upon  to  defend  himself  before  the  bar  of  his 
own  conscience  for  going  to  Chaldicotes  and  increasing  his 
intimacy  with  Mr.  Sowerby.  He  did  know  that  Mr.  Sow- 
erby  was  a  dangerous  man ;  he  Avas  aware  that  he  was 
over  head  and  ears  in  debt,  and  that  he  had  already  en- 
tangled young  Lord  Lufton  in  some  pecuniary  embarrass- 
ment; his  conscience  did  tell  him  that  it  would  be  well  for 
him,  as  one  of  Christ's  soldiers,  to  look  out  for  companions 
of  a  different  stamp.  But,  nevertheless,  he  went  to  Chaldi- 
cotes, not  satisfied  with  himself  indeed,  but  repeating  to  him- 
self a  great  many  arguments  why  he  should  be  so  satisfied. 

He  was  shown  into  the  drawing-room  at  once,  and  there 
he  found  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  with  Mrs.  and  Miss  Proudie, 
and  a  lady  whom  he  had  never  before  seen,  and  whose 
name  he  did  not  at  first  hear  mentioned. 

"Is  that  Mr.  Robarts?"  said  Mrs. Harold  Smith,  getting 
up  to  greet  him,  and  screening  her  pretended  ignorance 
under  the  veil  of  the  darkness.  "  And  have  you  really 
driven  over  four-and-twenty  miles  of  Barsetshire  roads  on 
such  a  day  as  this  to  assist  us  in  our  little  difliculties  ? 
Well,  we  can  promise  you  gratitude,  at  any  rate." 

And  then  the  vicar  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Proudie  in 
that  deferential  manner  which  is  due  from  a  vicar  to  his 
bishop's  wife,  and  Mrs.  Proudie  returned  the  greeting  with 
all  that  smiling  condescension  which  a  bishop's  wife  should 
show  to  a  vicar.  Miss  Proudie  w^as  not  quite  so  civil. 
Had  Mr.  Ilobarts  been  still  umnarried,  she  also  could  have 
smiled  sweetly;  but  she  had  been  exercising  smiles  on 
clergymen  too  long  to  waste  them  now  on  a  married  par- 
ish parson. 

"And  wliat  are  the  difficulties,  Mrs.  Smith,  in  which  I 
am  to  assist  "you  ?" 

"  We  have  six  or  seven  gentlemen  here,  Mr.  Robarts, 
and  they  always  go  out  hunting  before  breakfast,  and  they 
never  come  back — I  was  going  to  say — till  after  dinner. 
I  wish  it  were  so,  for  then  we  should  not  have  to  wait  for 
them." 

"  Excepthig  Mr.  Supplehouse,  you  know,"  said  the  un- 
known lady,  in  a  loud  voice. 

"And  he  is  generally  shut  up  in  the  library,  writing  ar- 
ticles." 

"  He'd  be  better  employed  if  he  were  trying  to  break 
his  neck  like  the  others,"  said  the  unknown  ladv. 


FEAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  33 

"  Only  he  would  never  succeed,"  said  Mrs.  Harold  Smith. 
"  But  perhaps,  Mr.  Robarts,  you  are  as  bad  as  the  rest ; 
perhaps  you,  too,  will  be  hunting  to-morrow." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Smith!"  said  Mrs.  Proudie,  in  a  tone 
denoting  slight  reproach  and  modified  horror. 

"  Oh !  I  forgot.  No,  of  course,  you  won't  be  hunting, 
Mr.  Robarts ;  you'll  only  be  wishing  that  you  could." 

"  Why  can't  he  ?"  said  the  lady  with  the  loud  voice. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Dunstable !  a  clergyman  hunt  while  he 
is  staying  in  the  same  house  with  the  bishop  ?  Think  of 
the  proprieties !" 

"  Oh— ah !  The  bishop  wouldn't  like  it— wouldn't  he  ? 
Now  do  tell  me,  sir,  what  w^ould  the  bishop  do  to  you  if 
you  did  hunt  ?" 

"  It  w^ould  depend  upon  his  mood  at  the  time,  madam,*' 
said  Mr.  Robarts.  "  If  that  were  very  stern,  he  might  per- 
liaps  have  me  beheaded  before  the  palace  gates." 

Mrs.  Proudie  drew  herself  up  in  her  chair,  showing  that 
she  did  not  like  the  tone  of  the  conversation,  and  Miss 
Proudie  fixed  her  eyes  vehemently  on  her  book,  showing 
that  Miss  Dunstable  and  her  conversation  were  both  be- 
neath her  notice. 

"  If  these  gentlemen  do  not  mean  to  break  their  necks 
to-night,"  said  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  "I  wish  they'd  let  us 
know  it.     It's  half  past  six  already." 

And  then  Mr.  Robarts  gave  them  to  understand  that  no 
such  catastrophe  could  be  looked  for  that  day,  as  Mr.  Sow- 
erby  and  the  other  sportsmen  were  within  the  stable-yard 
when  he  entered  the  door. 

"  Then,  ladies,  we  may  as  well  dress,"  said  Mrs.  Harold 
Smith.  But,  as  she  moved  toward  the  door,  it  opened, 
and  a  short  gentleman,  wath  a  slow,  quiet  step,  entered  the 
room,  but  was  not  yet  to  be  distinguished  through  the 
dusk  by  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Robarts.  "  Oh  !  bishop,  is  that 
you?"  said  Mrs.  Smith.  "Here  is  one  of  the  luminaries 
of  your  diocese."  And  then  the  bishop,  feeling  through 
the  dark,  made  his  way  up  to  the  vicar  and  shook  him  cord- 
ially by  the  hand.  "He  was  delighted  to  meet  Mr.  Rob- 
arts at  Chaldicotes,"  he  said — "quite  delighted.  Was  he 
not  going  to  preach  on  behalf  of  the  Papuan  Mission  next 
Sunday  ?  Ah !  so  he,  the  bishop,  had  heard.  It  was  a 
good  work — an  excellent  work."  And  then  Dr.  Proudie 
expressed  himself  as  much  grieved  that  he  could  not  re- 

B2 


34   »  FKAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

main  at  Chaldicotes  and  hear  the  sermon.  It  was  plain 
that  his  bishop  thought  no  ill  of  him  on  account  of  his  in- 
timacy with  Mr.  Sowerby.  But  then  he  felt  in  his  own 
heart  that  he  did  not  much  regard  his  bishop's  opinion. 

"  Ah !  Robarts,  I'm  delighted  to  see  you,"  said  Mr.  Sow- 
erby, when  they  met  on  the  drawing-room  rug  before  din- 
ner. "  You  know  Harold  Smith  ?  Yes,  of  course  you  do. 
Well,  who  else  is  there  ?  Oh !  Supplehouse.  Mr.  Supple- 
house,  allow  me  to  introduce  to  you  my  friend  Mr.  Rob- 
arts.  It  is  he  who  will  extract  the  five-pound  note  out  of 
your  pocket  next  Sunday  for  these  poor  Papuans  whom  we 
are  going  to  Christianize — that  is,  if  Harold  Smith  does  not 
finish  the  work  out  of  hand  at  his  Saturday  lecture.  And, 
Robarts,  you  have  seen  the  bishop,  of  course ;"  this  he  said 
in  a  whisper.  "  A  fine  thing  to  be  a  bishop,  isn't  it  ?  I 
wish  I  had  half  your  chance.  But,  my  dear  fellow,  I've 
made  such  a  mistake ;  I  haven't  got  a  bachelor  parson  for 
Miss  Proudie.  You  must  help  me  out,  and  take  her  in  to 
dinner."  And  then  the  great  gong  sounded,  and  off  they 
went  in  pairs. 

At  dinner  Mark  found  himself  seated  between  Miss 
Proudie  and  the  lady  whom  he  had  heard  named  as  Miss 
Dunstable.  Of  the  former  he  was  not  very  fond,  and,  in 
spite  of  his  host's  petition,  was  not  inclined  to  play  bache- 
lor parson  for  her  benefit.  With  the  other  lady  he  would 
willingly  have  chatted  during  the  dinner,  only  that  every 
body  else  at  table  seemed  to  be  intent  on  doing  the  same 
thing.  She  was  neither  young,  nor  beautiful,  nor  j^ecul- 
iarly  ladylike,  yet  she  seemed  to  enjoy  a  popularity  which 
must  have  excited  the  envy  of  Mr.  Supplehouse,  and  which 
certainly  was  not  altogether  to  the  taste  of  Mrs.  Proudie, 
who,  however,  feted  her  as  much  as  did  the  others,  so  that 
our  clergyman  found  himself  unable  to  obtain  more  tlian 
an  inconsiderable  share  of  the  lady's  attention. 

"  Bishop,"  said  she,  speaking  across  the  table,  "  we  have 
missed  you  so  all  day !  we  have  had  no  one  on  earth  to  say 
a  word  to  us." 

"My  dear  Miss  Dunstable,  had  I  known  that — But  I 
really  was  engaged  on  business  of  some  importance." 

"  I  don't  believe  in  business  of  importance ;  do  you,  Mrs. 
Smith?" 

"  Do  I  not  ?"  said  Mrs.  Smith.  "  If  you  were  married 
to  Mr.  Harold  Smith  for  one  week,  you'd  believe  in  it." 


FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE.  35 

"Should  I,  now?  What  a  pity  that  I  can't  have  that 
chance  of  miproving  my  faith.  But  you  are  a  man  of  busi- 
ness, also,  Mr.  Supplehouse — so  they  tell  me."  And  she 
turned  to  her  neighbor  on  her  right  hand. 

"  I  can  not  compare  myself  to  Harold  Smith,"  said  he, 
"  but  perhaps  I  may  equal  the  bishop." 

"  What  does  a  man  do,  now,  when  he  sets  himself  down 
to  business?  How  does  he  set  about  it?  What  are  his 
tools?  A  quire  of  blotting  paper,  I  suppose,  to  begin 
with?" 

"  That  depends,  I  should  sav,  on  his  trade.  A  shoemaker 
begins  by  waxing  his  thread.'^ 

"  And'Mr.  Harold  Smith—  ?" 

"  By  counting  up  his  yesterday's  figures,  generally,  I 
should  say,  or  else  by  unrolling  a  ball  of  red  tape.  Well- 
docketed  papers  and  statistical  facts  are  his  forte." 

"  And  what  does  a  bishop  do  ?     Can  you  tell  me  that?'* 

.  *'  He  sends  forth  to  his  clergy  either  blessings  or  blow- 

ings-up,  according  to  the  state  of  his  digestive  organs. 

But  Mrs.  Proudie  can  explain  all  that  to  you  with  the 

greatest  accuracy." 

"  Can  she,  now  ?  I  understand  what  you  mean,  but  I 
don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  The  bishop  manages  his  own 
affairs  himself,  quite  as  much  as  you  do,  or  Mr.  Harold 
Smith." 

"I,  Miss  Dunstable?" 

"  Yes,  you." 

"  But  I,  unluckily,  have  not  a  wife  to  manage  them  for 
me." 

"Then  you  should  not  laugh  at  those  who  have,  for  you 
don't  know  what  you  may  come  to  yourself  when  you're 
married." 

Mr.  Supplehouse  began  to  make  a  pretty  speech,  saying 
that  he  would  be  delighted  to  incur  any  danger  in  that  re- 
spect to  which  he  might  be  subjected  by  the  companion- 
ship of  Miss  Dunstable.  But,  before  he  was  half  through 
it,  she  had  turned  her  back  upon  him,  and  began  a  conver- 
sation with  Mark  Robarts. 

"Have  you  much  work  in  your  parish,  Mr.  Robarts?" 
she  asked.  Now  Mark  was  not  aware  that  she  knew  his 
name,  or  the  fact  of  his  having  a  parish,  and  was  rather 
surprised  by  the  question.  And  he  had  not  quite  liked 
the  tone  in  which  she  had  seemed  to  speak  of  the  bishop 


',iQ  FRAMLEY    PAESONAGE. 

and  his  work.  His  desire  for  her  farther  acquaintance 
was  therefore  somewhat  moderated,  and  he  was  not  pre- 
pared to  answer  lier  question  with  much  zeal. 

"All  parish  clergymen  have  plenty  of  work,  if  they 
choose  to  do  it." 

"  Ah  !  that  is  it ;  is  it  not,  Mr.  liobarts  ?  If  they  choose 
to  do  it  ?  A  great  many  do — many  that  I  know  do ;  and 
see  what  a  result  they  have.  But  many  neglect  it — and 
see  what  a  result  thej/  have.  I  think  it  ought  to  be  the 
happiest  life  that  a  man  can  lead,  that  of  a  parish  clergy- 
man, with  a  wife  and  family,  and  a  sufficient  income." 

"I  think  it  is,"  said  Mark  Robarts,  asking  himself 
whether  the  contentment  accruing  to  him  from  such  bless- 
ings had  "made  him  satisfied  at  all  points.  He  had  all 
these  things  of  which  Miss  Dunstable  spoke,  and  yet  he 
had  told  his  wife,  the  other  day,  that  he  could  not  afford 
to  neglect  the  acquaintance  of  a  rising  politician  like  Har- 
old Smith. 

"  What  I  find  fault  with  is  this,"  continued  Miss  Dun- 
stable, "  that  we  expect  clergymen  to  do  their  duty,  and 
don't  give  them  a  sufficient  income — give  them  hardly  any 
income  at  all.  Is  it  not  a  scandal  that  an  educated  gentle- 
man with  a  family  should  be  made  to  Avork  half  his  life, 
and  perhaps  the  whole,  for  a  pittance  of  seventv  pounds  a 
year?" 

Mark  said  that  it  was  a  scandal,  and  thought  of  Mr. 
Evan  Jones  and  his  daughter — and  thought  also  of  his  own 
worth,  and  his  own  house,  and  his  own  nine  hundred  a 
year. 

"And  yet  you  clergymen  arc  so  proud — aristocratic 
would  be  the  genteel  Avord,  I  know^ — that  you  won't  take 
the  money  of  common,  ordinary  poor  people.  You  must 
be  paid  from  land  and  endowments,  from  tithe  and  Church 
property.  You  can't  bring  yourself  to  work  for  what  you 
earn,  as  lawyers  and  doctors  do.  It  is  better  that  curates 
should  starve  than  undergo  such  ignominy  as  that." 

"It  is  a  long  subject.  Miss  Dunstable." 

"  A  very  long  one ;  and  that  means  that  I  ani  not  to  s^y 
any  more  about  it." 

"  I  did  not  mean  that  exactly." 

"  Oh  !  but  you  did,  though,  Mr.  Robarts ;  and  I  can  take 
a  hint  of  that  kind  when  I  get  it.  You  clergymen  like  to 
keep  those  long  subjects  for  your  sermons,  when  no  one 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  37 

can  answer  you.  Now,  if  I  have  a  longing  heart's  desire 
for  any  thing  at  all  in  this  world,  it  is  to  be  able  to  get  up 
into  a  pulpit  and  preach  a  sermon." 

"You  can't  conceive  how  soon  that  appetite  would  pall 
upon  you  after  its  first  indulgence." 

"That  would  depend  upon  whether  I  could  get  people 
to  listen  to  me.  It  does  not  pall  upon  Mr.  Spurgeon,  I 
suppose."  Then  her  attention  was  called  away  by  some 
question  from  Mr.  Sowerby,  and  Mark  Robarts  found  him- 
self bound  to  address  his  conversation  to  Miss  Proudie. 
Miss  Proudie,  however,  was  not  thankful,  and  gave  him  lit- 
tle but  monosyllables  for  his  pains. 

"  Of  course  you  know  Harold  Smith  is  going  to  give  us 
a  lecture  about  these  islanders,"  Mr.  Sowerby  said  to  him, 
as  they  sat  round  the  fire  over  their  wine  after  dinner. 
Mark  said  that  he  had  been  so  informed,  and  should  be  de- 
lighted to  be  one  of  the  listeners. 

"You  are  bound  to  do  that,  as  he  is  going  to  listen  to 
you  the  day  afterward — or,  at  any  rate,  to  pretend  to  do 
so,  which  is  as  much  as  you  will  do  for  him.  It'll  be  a 
terrible  bore — the  lecture  I  mean,  not  the  sermon."  And 
he  spoke  very  low  into  his  friend's  ear.  "  Fancy  having 
to  drive  ten  miles  after  dusk,  and  ten  miles  back,  to  hear 
Harold  Smith  talk  for  two  hours  about  Borneo !  One  must 
do  it,  you  know." 

"  I  dare  say  it  will  be  very  interesting." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  haven't  undergone  so  many  of 
these  things  as  I  have.  But  he's  right  to  do  it.  It's  his 
line  of  life ;  and  when  a  man  begins  a  thing  ho  ought  to 
go  on  with  it.     Where's  Lufton  all  this  time  ?" 

"In  Scotland  when  I  last  heard  from  him ;  but  he's  prob- 
ably at  Melton  now." 

"  It's  deuced  shabby  of  him,  not  hunting  here  in  his  own 
county.  He  escapes  all  the  bore  of  going  to  lectures,  and 
giving  feeds  to  the  neighbors ;  that's  why  he  treats  us  so. 
He  has  no  idea  of  his  duty,  has  he  ?" 

"  Lady  Lufton  does  all  that,  you  know." 

"  I  wish  I'd  a  Mrs.  Sowerby  mere  to  do  it  for  me.  But 
then  Lufton  has  no  constituents  to  look  after — lucky  dog! 
By-the-by,  has  he  spoken  to  you  about  selling  that  outly- 
ing bit  of  land  of  his  in  Oxfordshire  ?  It  belongs  to  the 
Lufton  property,  and  yet  it  doesn't.  In  my  mind,  it  gives 
more  trouble  than  it's  worth." 


38  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

Lord  Lufton  had  spoken  to  Mark  about  this  sale,  and 
had  explained  to  him  that  such  a  sacrifice  was  absolutely- 
necessary,  in  consequence  of  certain  pecuniary  transactions 
between  him,  Lord  Lufton,  and  Mr.  Sowerby.  But  it  was 
:(pund  impracticable  to  complete  the  business  without  Lady 
Lufton's  knowledge,  and  her  son  had  commissioned  Mr. 
Robarts  not  only  to  inform  her  ladyship,  but  to  talk  her 
over  and  to  appease  her  wrath.  This  commission  he  had 
not  yet  attempted  to  execute,  and  it  was  probable  that 
this  visit  to  Chaldicotes  would  not  do  much  to  facilitate 
the  business. 

"  They  are  the  most  magnificent  islands  under  the  sun," 
said  Harold  Smith  to  the  bishop. 

"  Are  they,  indeed  ?"  said  the  bishop,  opening  his  eyes 
wide,  and  assuming  a  look  of  intense  interest. 

"  And  the  most  intelligent  people." 

"  Dear  me !"  said  the  bishop. 

"All  they  want  is  guidance,  encouragement,  instruc- 
tion—" 

"  And  Christianity,"  suggested  the  bishop. 

"And  Christianity,  of  course,"  said  Mr.  Smith,  remem- 
bering that  he  Avas  speaking  to  a  dignitary  of  the  Church. 
It  was  well  to  humor  such  peoj^le,  Mr.  Smith  thought. 
But  the  Christianity  was  to  be  done  in  the  Sunday  sermon, 
and  was  not  part  of  his  work. 

"And  how  do  you  intend  to  begin  with  them?"  asked 
Mr.  Supplehouse,  the  business  of  whose  life  it  had  been  to 
suggest  difficulties. 

"Begin  with  them — oh— ^why — it's  very  easy  to  begin 
with  them.  The  difficulty  is  to  go  on  with  them  after  the 
money  is  all  spent.  We'll  begin  by  explaining  to  them 
the  benefits  of  civilization." 

"Capital  plan!"  said  Mr.  Supplehouse.  "But  how  do 
you  set  about  it.  Smith  ?" 

"  How  do  we  set  about  it  ?  How  did  we  set  about  it 
with  Australia  and  America  ?  It  is  very  easy  to  criticise ; 
but  in  such  matters  the  great  thing  is  to  put  one's  shoul- 
der to  the  wheel." 

"We  sent  our  felons  to  Australia,"  said  Supplehouse, 
"  and  they  began  the  work  for  us.  And  as  to  America, 
we  exterminated  the  people  instead  of  civilizing  them." 

"We  did  not  exterminate  the  inhabitants  of  India,"  said 
Harold  Smith,  angrily. 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  39 

"  Nor  have  we  attempted  to  Christianize  them,  as  the 
bishop  so  properly  wishes  to  do  with  your  islanders." 

"  Supplehouse,  you  are  not  fair,"  said  Mr.  Sowerby, 
"  neither  to  Harold  Smith  nor  to  us ;  you  are  making  him 
rehearse  his  lecture,  which  is  bad  for  him,  and  making  us 
hear  the  rehearsal,  which  is  bad  for  us." 

"  Supplehouse  belongs  to  a  clique  which  monopolizes  the 
wisdom  of  England,"  said  Harold  Smith,  "  or,  at  any  rate, 
thinks  that  it  does.  But  the  \w)rst  of  them  is  that  they 
are  given  to  talk  leading  articles." 

"  Better  that  than  talk  articles  which  are  not  leading," 
said  Mr.  Supplehouse.  "  Some  first-class  official  men  do 
that." 

"  Shall  I  meet  you  at  the  duke's  next  w^eek,  Mr.  Rob- 
arts?"  said  the  bishop  to  him,  soon  after  they  had  gone 
into  the  drawing-room. 

Meet  him  at  the  duke's !  the  established  enemy  of  Bar- 
setshire  mankind,  as  Lady  Lufton  regarded  his  grace !  No 
idea  of  going  to  the  duke's  had  ever  entered  our  hero's 
mind,  nor  had  he  been  aware  that  the  duke  Avas  about  to 
entertain  any  one. 

"  No,  my  lord,  I  think  not.  Indeed,  I  have  no  acquaint- 
ance with  his  grace." 

"  Oh — ah !  I  did  not  know.  Because  Mr.  Sowerby  is 
going,  and  so  are  the  Harold  Smiths,  and,  I  think,  Mr. 
Supplehouse.  An  excellent  man  is  the  duke — that  is,  as 
regards  all  the  county  interests,"  added  the  bishop,  remem- 
bering that  the  moral  character  of  his  bachelor  grace  w^as 
not  the  very  best  in  the  world. 

And  then  his  lordship  began  to  ask  some  questions 
jibout  the  Church  aftairs  of  Framley,  in  which  a  little  in- 
terest as  to  Framley  Court  w^as  also  mixed  up,  when  he 
Avas  interrupted  by  a  rather  sharp  voice,  to  Avhich  he  in- 
stantly attended. 

"  Bishop,"  said  the  rather  sharp  voice ;  and  the  bishop 
trotted  across  the  room  to  the  back  of  the  sofa  on  which 
his  wife  was  sitting. 

"  Miss  Dimstable  thinks  that  she  will  be  able  to  come  to 
us  for  a  couple  of  days  after  Ave  leave  the  duke's." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  above  all  things,"  said  the  bishop, 
bowing  low  to  the  dominant  lady  of  the  day ;  for  be  it 
knowij  to  all  men  that  Miss  Dunstable  was  the  great  heir- 
ess of  that  name. 


40  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

"  Mrs.  ProLidie  is  so  very  kind  as  to  say  that  she  will 
take  me  in,  with  my  poodle,  parrot,  and  pet  old  woman." 

"I  tell  Miss  Dmistable  that  we  shall  have  quite  room 
for  any  of  her  suite,"  said  Mrs.  Proudie,  "  and  that  it  will 
give  us  no  trouble." 

" '  The  labor  we  delight  in  physics  pain,' "  said  the  gal- 
lant bishop,  bowing  low,  and  2:)utting  his  hand  upon  his 
heart. 

In  the  mean  time,  Mr.^othergill  had  got  hold  of  Mark 
Robarts.  Mr.  Fothergill  was  a  gentleman,  and  a  magis- 
trate of  the  county,  but  he  occupied  the  position  of  man- 
aging man  on  the  Duke  of  Omnium's  estates.  He  was  not 
exactly  his  agent — that  is  to  say,  he  did  not  receive  his 
rents  ;  but  he  "  managed"  for  him,  saw  people,  went  about 
the  county,  wrote  letters,  supported  the  electioneering  in- 
terest, did  popularity  when  it  w^as  too  much  trouble  for 
the  duke  to  do  it  himself,  and  Avas,  in  fact,  invaluable. 
People  in  West  Barsetshire  Avould  often  say  that  they  did 
not  know  what  on  earth  the  duke  would  do  if  it  were  not 
for  Mr.  Fothergill.  Indeed,  Mr.  Fothergill  w^as  useful  to 
the  duke. 

"  Mr.  Kobarts,"  he  said,  "  I  am  very  happy  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  you — very  happy  indeed.  I  have  often 
heard  of  you  from  our  friend  Sowerby." 

Mark  bowed,  and  said  that  he  was  delighted  to  have  the 
honor  of  making  Mr.  Fothergill's  acquaintance. 

"I  am  commissioned  by  the  Duke  of  Omnium,"  contin- 
ued Mr.  Fothergill,  "  to  say  how  glad  he  will  be  if  you  will 
join  his  grace's  party  at  Gatherum  Castle  next  week.  The 
bishop  will  be  there,  and,  indeed,  nearly  the  Avhole  set  who 
are  here  now.  The  duke  would  have  written  when  he 
heard  that  you  were  to  be  at  Chaldicotes ;  but  things  were 
hardly  quite  arranged  then,  so  his  grace  has  left  it  for  me 
to  tell  you  hov/  happy  he  will  be  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance in  his  own  house.  I  have  spoken  to  Sowerby,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Fothergill,  "  and  he  very  much  hopes  that  you 
will  be  able  to  join  us." 

Mark  felt  that  his  face  became  red  when  this  proposition 
w^as  made  to  him.  The  party  in  the  county  to  which  he 
properly  belonged — he  and  his  wife,  and  all  that  made  him 
happy  and  respectable — looked  upon  the  Duke  of  Omnium 
with  horror  and  amazement;  and  now  he  had  absolutely 
received  an  invitation  to  the  duke's  house !     A  propositioii 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  4} 

was  made  to  him  that  he  should  be  numbered  among  the 
duke's  friends ! 

And  though  in  one  sense  he  was  sorry  that  the  proposi- 
tion was  made  to  him,  yet  in  another  he  was  proud  of  it.  It 
is  not  every  young  man,  let  his  profession  be  what  it  may, 
who  can  receive  overtures  of  friendship  from  dukes  with- 
out some  elation.  Mark,  too,  had  risen  in  the  world,  ^s 
far  as  he  had  yet  risen,  by  knowing  great  people ;  and  he 
certainly  had  an  ambition  to  rise  higher.  I  will  not  de- 
grade him  by  calling  him  a  tuft-hunter,  but  he  undoubted- 
ly had  a  feeling  that  the  paths  most  pleasant  for  a  cler- 
gyman's feet  were  those  which  were  trodden  by  the  great 
ones  of  the  earth. 

Nevertheless,  at  the  moment  he  declined  the  duke's  in- 
vitation. He  was  very  much  flattered,  he  said,  but  the  du- 
ties of  his  parish  would  require  him  to  return  direct  from 
Chaldicotes  to  Fi-amley. 

"  You  need  not  give  me  an  answer  to-night,  you  know,'* 
said  Mr.  Fothergill.  "Before  the  week  is  past,  we  will 
talk  it  over  with  Sowerby  and  the  bishop.  It  will  be  a 
thousand  pities,  Mr.  Robarts,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  say 
so,  that  you  should  neglect  such  an  opportunity  of  know- 
ing his  grace." 

When  Mark  went  to  bed,  his  mind  was  still  set  against 
going  to  the  duke's ;  but,  nevertheless,  he  did  feel  that  it 
was  a  pity  that  he  should  not  do  so.  After  all,  was  it  nec- 
essary that  he  should  obey  Lady  Lufton  in  all  things  ? 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A    MATTEIl    OF    CONSCIENCE. 

It  is  no  doubt  very  wrong  to  long  after  a  naughty  thing ; 
but,  nevertheless,  we  all  do  so.  One  may  say  that  hanker- 
ing after  naughty  things  is  the  very  essence  of  the  evil  into 
which  we  have  been  precipitated  by  Adam's  fall.  When 
we  confess  that  we  are  all  sinners,  we  confess  that  we  all 
long  after  naughty  things. 

And  ambition  is  a  great  vice — as  Mark  Antony  told  us  a 
long  time  ago — a  great  vice,  no  doubt,  if  the  ambition  of 
the  man  be  with  reference  to  his  own  advancement,  and 
not  to  the  advancement  of  others.     But  then,  how  many 


42  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

of  US  are  there  who  are  not  ambitious  in  this  vicious  man- 
ner? 

And  there  is  nothing  viler  than  the  desire  to  know  great 
people — people  of  great  rank  I  should  say ;  nothing  worse 
than  the  hunting  of  titles  and  worshiping  of  wealth.  We 
all  know  this,  and  say  it  every  day  of  our  lives.  But,  pre- 
suming that  a  way  into  the  society  of  Park  Lane  was  open 
to  us,  and  a  way  also  into  that  of  Bedford  Row,  how  many 
of  us  are  there  who  would  prefer  Bedford  Row  because  it 
is  so  vile  to  worship  wealth  and  title  ? 

I  am  led  into  these  rather  trite  remarks  by  the  necessity 
of  putting  forward  some  sort  of  excuse  for  that  frame  of 
mind  in  which  the  Rev.  Mark  Robarts  awoke  on  the  morn- 
ing after  his  arrival  at  Chaldicotes ;  and  I  trust  that  the 
fact  of  his  being  a  clergyman  will  not  be  allowed  to  press 
against  him  unfairly.  Clergymen  are  subject  to  the  same 
passions  as  other  men,  and,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  give  way  to 
them,  in  one  line  or  in  another,  almost  as  frequently.  Ev- 
ery clergyman  should,  by  canonical  rule,  feel  a  personal 
disinclination  to  a  bishopric,  but  yet  we  do  not  believe 
that  such  personal  disinclination  is  generally  very  strong. 

Mark's  first  thoughts  when  he  woke  on  that  morning 
flew  back  to  Mr.  Fothergill's  invitation.  The  duke  had 
sent  a  special  message  to  say  how  pecuHarly  glad  he,  the 
duke,  would  be  to  make  acquaintance  with  him,  the  par- 
son !  How  much  of  this  message  had  been  of  Mr.  Fother- 
gill's own  manufacture,  that  Mark  Robarts  did  not  con- 
sider. 

He  had  obtained  a  living  at  an  age  when  other  young 
clergymen  are  beginning  to  think  of  a  curacy,  and  he  had 
obtained  such  a  living  as  middle-aged  parsons  in  theii' 
dreams  regard  as  a  possible  Paradise  for  their  old  years. 
Of  course  he  thought  that  all  these  good  things  had  been 
the  results  of  his  own  peculiar  merits.  Of  course  he  felt 
that  he  was  different  from  other  parsons — more  fitted  by 
nature  for  intimacy  with  great  persons,  more  urbane,  more 
polished,  and  more  richly  endowed  with  modern  clerical 
well-to-do  aptitudes.  He  was  grateful  to  Lady  Lufton  for 
what  she  had  done  for  him,  but  perhaps  not  so  grateful  as 
he  should  have  been. 

At  any  rate,  he  was  not  Lady  Lufton's  servant,  nor  even 
her  dependent.  So  much  he  had  repeated  to  himself  on 
many  occasions,  and  had  gone  so  far  as  to  hint  the  same 


FKAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  43 

idea  to  his  wife.  In  his  career  as  parish  priest  he  must  in 
most  things  be  the  judge  of  his  own  actions,  and  in  many 
also  it  was  his  duty  to  be  the  judge  of  those  of  his  patron- 
ess. The  fact  of  Lady  Lufton  having  placed  him  in  the 
living  could  by  no  means  make  her  the  proper  judge  of  his 
actions.  This  he  often  said  to  himself;  and  he  said  as  oft- 
en that  Lady  Lufton  certainly  had  a  hankering  after  such 
a  judgment-seat. 

Of  whom  generally  did  prime  ministers  and  official  big 
wigs  think  it  expedient  to  make  bishops  and  deans  ?  Was 
it  not,  as  a  rule,  of  those  clergymen  who  had  shown  them- 
selves able  to  perform  their  clerical  duties  efficiently,  and 
able  also  to  take  their  place  with  ease  in  high  society  ?  He 
was  very  well  off  certainly  at  Framley,  but  he  could  never 
hope  for  any  thing  beyond  Framley  if  he  allowed  himself  to 
regard  Lady  Lufton  as  a  bugbear.  Putting  Lady  Lufton 
and  her  prejudices  out  of  the  question,  was  there  any  rea- 
son why  he  ought  not  to  accept  the  duke's  invitation  ? 
He  could  not  see  that  there  was  any  such  reason.  If  any 
one  could  be  a  better  judge  on  such  a  subject  than  him- 
self, it  must  be  his  bishop,  and  it  was  clear  that  the  bishop 
wished  him  to  go  to  Gatherum  Castle. 

The  matter  was  still  left  open  to  him.  Mr.  Fothergill 
had  especially  explained  that,  and,  therefore,  his  ultimate 
decision  was  as  yet  within  his  own  power.  Such  a  visit 
would  cost  him  some  money,  for  he  knew  that  a  man  does 
not  stay  at  great  houses  without  expense;  and  then,  in 
spite  of  his  good  income,  he  was  not  very  flush  of  money. 
He  had  been  down  this  year  with  Lord  Lufton  in  Scot- 
land. Perhaps  it  might  be  more  prudent  for  him  to  re- 
turn home. 

But  then  an  idea  came  to  him  that  it  behooved  him  as  a 
man  and  a  priest  to  break  through  that  Framley  thralldom 
under  which  he  felt  that  he  did  to  a  certain  extent  exist. 
Was  it  not  the  fact  that  he  was  about  to  decline  this  invi- 
tation from  fear  of  Lady  Lufton?  and  if  so,  was  that  a  mo- 
tive by  which  he  ought  to  be  actuated  ?  It  was  incum- 
bent on  him  to  rid  himself  of  that  feeling.  And  in  this 
spirit  he  got  up  and  dressed. 

There  was  hunting  again  on  that  day ;  and  as  the  hounds 
were  to  meet  near  Chaldicotes,  and  to  draw  some  coverts 
lying  on  the  verge  of  the  chase,  the  ladies  w^ere  to  go  in 
carriages  through  the  drives  of  the  forest,  and  Mr.  Rob- 


44  FRAMLEY    PAKSONAGE. 

arts  was  to  escort  them  on  horseback.  Indeed,  it  was  one 
of  those  hunting-days  got  up  rather  for  the  ladies  than  for  the 
sport.  Great  nuisances  they  are  to  steady,  middle-aged 
hunting  men ;  but  the  young  fellows  like  them  because 
they  have  thereby  an  opportunity  of  showing  oif  their 
sporting  finery,  and  of  doing  a  little  flirtation  on  horse- 
back. The  bishop,  also,  had  been  minded  to  be  of  the 
party ;  so,  at  least,  he  had  said  on  the  previous  evening ; 
and  a  place  in  one  of  the  carriages  had  been  set  apart  for 
him ;  but  since  that,  he  and  Mrs.  Proudie  had  discussed 
the  matter  in  private,  and  at  breakfast  his  lordshijj  declared 
that  he  had  changed  his  mind. 

Mr.  Sovverby  was  one  of  those  men  who  are  known  to 
be  very  poor — as  poor  as  debt  can  make  a  man — but  who, 
nevertheless,  enjoy  all  the  luxuries  which  money  can  give. 
It  was  believed  that  he  could  not  live  in  England  out  of 
jail  but  for  his  protection  as  a  member  of  Parliament ;  and 
yet  it  seemed  that  there  was  no  end  to  his  horses  and  car- 
riages, his  servants  and  retinue.  He  had  been  at  this  work 
for  a  great  many  years,  and  practice,  they  say,  makes  per- 
fect. Such  companions  are  very  dangerous.  There  is  no 
cholera,  no  yellow  fever,  no  small-pox  more  contagious 
than  debt.  If  one  lives  habitually  among  embarrassed 
men,  one  catches  it  to  a  certainty.  No  one  had  injured 
the  community  in  this  way  more  fatally  than  Mr.  Sowerby. 
But  still  he  carried  on  the  game  himself;  and  now  on  this 
morning  carriages  and  horses  thronged  at  his  gate,  as 
though  he  were  as  substantially  rich  as  his  friend  the  Duke 
of  Omnium. 

"Robarts,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Sowerby,  when  they 
w^ere  well  under  way  down  one  of  the  glades  of  the  forest 
— for  the  place  where  the  hounds  met  was  some  four  or 
five  miles  from  the  house  of  Chaldicotes — "  ride  on  "vvith 
me  a  moment.  I  want  to  speak  to  you ;  and,  if  I  stay  be- 
hind, we  shall  never  get  to  the  hounds."  So  Mark,  who 
had  come  expressly  to  escort  the  ladies,  rode  on  alongside 
of  Mr.  Sowerby  in  his  pink  coat. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  Fothergill  tells  me  that  you  have  some 
hesitation  about  going  to  Gatherum  Castle." 

"  Well,  I  did  decline,  certainly.  You  know  I  am  not  a 
man  of  pleasure,  as  you  are.  I  have  some  duties  to  attend 
to."   . 

"Gammon!"  j^aid  Mr.  Sowerby;  and  as  he  said  it  he 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  45 

looked  with  a  kind  of  derisive  smile  into  tlie  clergyman's 
face. 

"  It  is  easy  enougli  to  say  that,  Sowerby ;  and  perhaps  I 
have  no  right  to  expect  that  you  should  understand  me." 

"  Ah !  but  I  do  understand  you,  and  I  say  it  is  gammon. 
I  would  be  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  ridicule  your  scru- 
ples about  duty,  if  this  hesitation  on  your  part  arose  from 
any  such  scruple.  But  answer  me  honestly,  do  you  not 
know  that  such  is  not  the  case  ?" 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  Ah !  but  I  think  you  do.  If  you  persist  in  refusing 
this  invitation,  will  it  not  be  because  you  are  afraid  of 
making  Lady  Lufton  angry?  I  do  not  know  what  there 
can  be  in  that  woman  that  she  is  able  to  hold  both  you  and 
Lufton  in  leading-strings." 

Robarts,  of  course,  denied  the  charge,  and  protested  that 
he  was  not  to  be  taken  back  to  his  own  parsonage  by  any 
fear  of  Lady  Lufton.  But,  though  he  made  such  protest 
with  Avarmth,  he  knew  that  he  did  so  ineflfectually.  Sow- 
erby only  smiled,  and  said  that  the  proof  of  the  pudding 
was  in  the  eating. 

"What  is  the  good  of  a  man  keeping  a  curate  if  it  be 
not  to  save  him  from  that  sort  of  drudgery?"  he  asked. 

"  Drudgery !  If  I  were  a  drudge,  how  could  I  be  here 
to-day?" 

"  Well,  Robarts,  look  here.  I  am  speaking  now,  perhaps, 
with  more  of  the  energy  of  an  old  friend  than  circumstan- 
ces fully  warrant ;  but  I  am  an  older  man  than  you,  and, 
as  I  have  a  regard  for  you,  I  do  not  like  to  see  you  throw 
up  a  good  game  when  it  is  in  your  hands." 

"  Oh,  as  far  as  that  goes,  Sowerby,  I  need  hardly  tell  you 
that  I  appreciate  your  kindness." 

*'  If  you  are  content,"  continued  the  man  of  the  world, 
"  to  live  at  Framley  all  your  life,  and  to  warm  yourself  in 
the  sunshine  of  the  dowager  there,  why,  in  such  case,  it 
may  perhaps  be  useless  for  you  to  extend  the  circle  of  your 
friends ;  but  if  you  have  higher  ideas  than  these,  I  think 
you  will  be  very  wrong  to  omit  the  present  opportunity 
of  going  to  the  duke's.  I  never  knew  the  duke  go  so 
much  out  of  his  way  to  be  civil  to  a  clergyman  as  he  has 
done  in  this  instance." 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  him." 

"  The  fact  is,  that  you  may,  if  you  please,  make  yourself 


46  FRAMLEY    PAKSOXAGE. 

popular  in  the  county ;  but  you  can  not  do  it  by  obeying 
all  Lady  Lufton's  behests.  She  is  a  dear  old  woman,  I  am 
sure." 

"  She  is,  Sowerby ;  and  you  would  say  so,  if  you  knew 
her." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it ;  but  it  would  not  do  for  you  or  me 
to  live  exactly  according  to  her  ideas.  Now  here,  in  this 
case,  the  bishop  of  the  diocese  is  to  be  one  of  the  party, 
and  he  has,  I  believe,  already  exjDressed  a  wish  that  you 
should  be  another." 

"  He  asked  me  if  I  were  going." 

"  Exactly ;  and  Archdeacon  Grantley  will  be  there." 

"Will  he?"  asked  Mark.  Now  that  would  be  a  great 
point  gained,  for  Archdeacon  Grantley  was  a  close  friend 
of  Lady  Lufton. 

"  So  I  understand  from  Fothergill.  Indeed,  it  wilt  be 
very  wrong  of  you  not  to  go,  and  I  tell  you  so  plainly ; 
and,  what  is  more,  when  you  talk  about  your  duty — you 
having  a  curate  as  you  liave — why,  it  is  gammon."  These 
last  words  he  spoke  looking  back  over  his  shoulder  as  he 
stood  up  in  his  stirrups,  for  he  had  caught  the  eye  of  the 
huntsman  who  was  surrounded  by  his  hounds,  and  was 
now  trotting  on  to  join  him. 

During  a  great  portion  of  the  day  Mark  found  himself 
riding  by  the  side  of  Mrs.  Proudie,  as  that  lady  leaned 
back  in  her  carriage ;  and  Mrs.  Proudie  smiled  on  him 
graciously,  though  her  daughter  would  not  do  so.  Mrs. 
Proudie  was  fond  of  having  an  attendant  clergyman  ;  and 
as  it  was  evident  that  Mr.  RobartG  lived  among  nice  peo- 
ple— titled  dowagers,  members  of  Parliament,  and  people 
of  that  sort — she  was  quite  willing  to  install  him  as  a  sort 
of  honorary  chaplain  pro  tern. 

"  ril  tell  you  what  we  have  settled,  Mrs.  Harold  Smith 
and  I,"  said  Mrs.  Proudie  to  him.  "This  lecture  at  Bar- 
ch ester  will  be  so  late  on  Saturday  evening  that  you  had 
all  better  come  and  dine  with  us." 

Mark  bowed  and  thanked  her,  and  declared  that  he 
should  be  very  happy  to  make  one  of  such  a  party.  Even 
Lady  Lufton  could  not  object  to  this,  although  she  was  not 
especially  fond  of  Mrs.  Proudie. 

"And  then  they  are  to  sleep  at  the  hotel.  It  will  really 
be  too  late  for  ladies  to  think  of  going  back  so  far  at  this 
time  of  the  year.     I  told  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  and  Miss  Dun- 


FKAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  47 

stable  too,  that  we  could  manage  to  make  room,  at  any 
rate,  for  them.  But  they  will  not  leave  the  other  ladies; 
so  they  go  to  the  hotel  for  that  night.  But,  Mr.  Robarts, 
the  bishop  will  never  allow  you  to  stay  at  the  inn,  so  of 
course  you  will  take  a  bed  at  the  palace." 

It  immediately  occurred  to  Mark  that  as  the  lecture  was 
to  be  given  on  Saturday  evening,  the  next  morning  would 
be  Sunday,  and  on  that  Sunday  he  would  have  to  preach  at 
Chaldicotes.  "I  thought  they  were  all  going  to  return  the 
same  night,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  they  did  intend  it ;  but  you  see  Mrs.  Smith  is 
afraid." 

"  I  should  have  to  get  back  here  on  the  Sunday  morning, 
Mrs.  Proudie." 

"  Ah !  yes,  that  is  bad — very  bad  indeed.  No  one  dis- 
likes any  interference  with  the  Sabbath  more  than  I  do. 
Indeed,  if  I  am  particular  about  any  thing,  it  is  about  that. 
But  some  w^orks  are  works  of  necessity,  Mr.  Robarts ;  are 
they  not  ?  Now  you  must  necessarily  be  back  at  Chaldi- 
cotes on  Sunday  morning !"  and  so  the  matter  was  settled. 
Mrs.  Proudie  was  very  firm  in  general  in  the  matter  of 
Sabbath-day  observances ;  but  when  she  had  to  deal  with 
such  persons  as  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  it  was  expedient  that 
she  should  give  way  a  little.  "  You  can  start  as  soon  as 
it's  dayhght,  you  know,  if  you  like  it,  Mr.  Robarts,"  said 
Mrs.  Proudie. 

There  was  not  much  to  boast  of  as  to  the  hunting,  but  it 
was  a  very  pleasant  day  for  the  ladies.  The  men  rode  up 
and  down  the  grass  roads  through  the  chase,  sometimes  in 
the  greatest  possible  hurry,  as  though  they  never  could  go 
quick  enough;  and  then  the  coachmen  would  drive  very 
fast  also,  though  they  did  not  know  why,  for  a  fast  pace 
of  movement  is  another  of  those  contagious  diseases.  And 
then  again  the  sportsmen  would  move  at  an  undertaker's 
pace,  when  the  fox  had  traversed  and  the  hounds  would 
be  at  a  loss  to  know  which  was  the  hunt  and  which  was 
the  heel;  and  then  the  carriage  also  would  go  slowly,  and 
the  ladies  would  stand  up  and  talk.  And  then  the  time 
for  lunch  came ;  and  altogether  the  day  went  by  pleasant- 
ly enough. 

"And  so  that's  hunting,  is  it?"  said  Miss  Dunstable. 

"  Yes,  that's  hunting,"  said  Mr.  Sowerby. 

"  I  did  not  see  any  gentleman  do  any  thing  that  I  could 


48  FKAMLEY    PARSONAGR 

not  do  myself,  except  there  was  one  young  man  slipped  off 
into  the  mud ;  and  I  shouldn't  like  that." 

"  But  there  was  no  breaking  of  bones,  was  there,  my 
dear?"  said  Mrs.  Harold  Smith. 

"  And  nobody  caught  any  foxes,"  said  Miss  Dunstable. 
"  The  fact  is,  Mrs.  Smith,  that  I  don't  think  much  more 
of  their  sport  than  I  do  of  their  business.  I  shall  take  to 
hunting  a  pack  of  hounds  myself  after  this." 

"  Do,  my  dear,  and  I'll  be  your  whipper-in.  I  wonder 
whether  Mrs.  Proudie  would  join  us." 

"  I  shall  be  writing  to  the  duke  to-night,"  said  Mr.  Foth- 
ergill  to  Mark,  as  they  were  all  riding  up  to  the  stable- 
yard  together.  "  You  will  let  me  tell  his  grace  that  you 
will  accept  his  invitation — will  you  not  ?" 

"Upon  my  word,  the  duke  is  very  kind,"  said  Mark. 

"He  is  very  anxious  to  know  you,  I  can  assure  you," 
said  Fothergill. 

What  could  a  young  flattered  fool  of  a  parson  do  but 
say  that  he  would  go  ?  Mark  did  say  that  he  would  go ; 
and  in  the  course  of  the  evening  his  friend  Mr.  Sowerby 
congratulated  him,  and  the  bishop  joked  with  him,  and 
said  that  he  knew  that  he  would  not  give  up  good  compa- 
ny so  soon ;  and  Miss  Dunstable  said  she  would  make  him 
her  chaplain  as  soon  as  Parliament  would  allow  quack  doc- 
tors to  have  such  articles — an  allusion  which  Mark  did  not 
understand,  till  he  learned  that  Miss  Dunstable  Avas  lierself 
the  proprietress  of  the  celebrated  Oil  of  Lebanon,  invent- 
ed by  her  late  respected  father,  and  patented  by  him  with 
such  w^onderful  results  in  the  way  of  accumulated  fortune; 
and  Mrs.  Proudie  made  him  quite  one  of  their  party,  talk- 
ing to  him  about  all  manner  of  Church  subjects ;  and  then 
at  last  even  Miss  Proudie  smiled  on  him  when  she  learned 
that  he  had  been  thought  worthy  of  a  bed  at  a  duke's 
castle ;  and  all  the  world  seemed  to  be  open  to  him. 

But  he  could  not  make  himself  happy  that  evening.  On 
the  next  morning  he  must  Avrite  to  his  wife ;  and  he  could 
already  see  the  look  of  painful  sorrow  which  w^ould  fall 
upon  his  Fanny's  brow  w^hen  she  learned  that  her  husband 
was  going  to  be  a  guest  at  the  Duke  of  Omnium's.  And 
he  must  tell  her  to  send  him  money,  and  money  was  scarce. 
And  then,  as  to  Lady  Lufton,  should  he  send  her  some 
message  or  should  be  not  ?  In  either  case  he  must  declare 
war  against  her.    And  then  did  he  not  owe  every  thing  to 


FRAMLEVr   PARSONAGE.  49 

Lady  Lufton  ?     And  thus,  in  spite  of  all  his  triumphs,  he 
could  not  get  hhnself  to  bed  in  a  happy  frame  of  mind. 

On  the  next  day,  which  was  Friday,  he  postponed  the 
disagreeable  task  of  writing.  Saturday  would  do  as  well ; 
and  on  Saturday  morning,  before  they  all  started  for  Bar- 
chester,  he  did  write.     And  his  letter  ran  as  follows : 

•       "  CiiALDicoTES,  iVowcm&fr,  1 85-. 

"Dearest  Love, — You  will  be  astonished  when  I  tell  you  how  gay 
we  all  are  here,  and  what  farther  dissipations  are  in  store  for  us.  The 
Arabins,  as  you  supposed,  are  not  of  our  party ;  but  the  Proudies  are — 
as  you  supposed  also.  Your  suppositions  are  always  right.  And  what 
will  you  think  when  I  tell  you  that  I  am  to  sleep  at  the  palace  on  Sat- 
urday ?  You  know  that  there  is  to  be  a  lecture  in  Barchester  on  that 
day.  Well,  we  must'  all  go,  of  course,  as  Harold  Smith,  one  of  our  set 
here,  is  to  give  it.  And  now  it  turns  out  that  we  can  not  get  back  the 
same  night,  because  there  is  no  moon ;  and  Mrs.  Bishop  would  not  al- 
low that  ray  cloth  should  be  contaminated  by  a  hotel — very  kind  and 
considerate,  is  it  not? 

"But  I  have  a  more  astounding  piece  of  news  for  you  than  this.  There 
is  to  be  a  great  party  at  Gatherum  Castle  next  week,  and  they  have 
talked  me  over  into  accepting  an  invitation  which  the  duke  sent  ex- 
pressly to  me.  I  refused  at  first;  but  every  body  here  said  that  my 
doing  so  would  be  so  strange ;  and  then  they  all  wanted  to  know  my 
reason.  When  I  came  to  render  it,  I  did  not  know  what  reason  I  had 
to  give.  The  bishop  is  going,  and  he  thought  it  veiy  odd  that  I  should 
not  go  also,  seeing  that  I  was  asked. 

"I  know  what  my  own  darling  will  think,  and  I  know  that  she  will 
not  be  pleased,  and  I  must  put  off  my  defense  till  I  return  to  her  from 
this  ogre-land — if  ever  I  do  get  back  alive.  But,  joking  apart,  Fanny, 
I  think  that  I  should  have  been  wrong  to  stand  out  when  so  much  was 
said  about  it.  I  should  have  been  seeming  to  take  upon  myself  to  sit  in 
judgment  upon  the  duke.  I  doubt  if  there  be  a  single  clergyman  in  the 
diocese,  under  fifty  years  of  age,  who  would  have  refused  the  invitation 
under  such  circumstances,  unless  it  be  Crawley,  who  is  so  mad  on  the 
subject  that  he  thinks  it  almost  wrong  to  take  a  walk  out  of  his  own 
pai-ish. 

"I  must  stay  at  Gatherum  Castle  over  Sunday  week  —  indeed,  we 
only  go  there  on  Friday.  I  have  written  to  Jones  about  the  duties.  I 
.can  make  it  up  to  him,  as  I  know  he  wishes  to  go  into  Wales  at  Christ- 
mas. My  wanderings  will  all  be  over  then,  and  he  may  go  for  a  couple 
of  months  if  he  pleases.  I  suppose  you  will  take  my  classes  in  the 
school  on  Sunday  as  well  as  your  own,  but  pray  make  them  have  a  good 
fire.  If  this  is  too  much  for  you,  make  Mrs.  Podgens  take  the  boys. 
Indeed,  I  think  that  will  be  better. 

"Of  course  you  will  tell  her  ladyship  of  my  whereabouts.  Tell  her 
from  me  that  as  regards  the  bishop,  as  well  as  regarding  another  great 
personage,  the  color  has  been  laid  on  perhaps  a  little  too  thickly.  Not 
that  Lady  Lufton  would  ever  like  him.  Make  her  understand  that  my 
going  to  the  duke's  has  almost  become  a  matter  of  conscience  with  me. 
I  have  not  known  how  to  make  it  appear  that  it  would  be  right  for  me 


50  FBAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

to  refuse,  without  absolutely  making  a  party  matter  of  it.  I  saw  that  it 
would  be  said  that  I,  coming  from  Lady  Lufton's  parish,  could  not  go 
to  the  Duke  of  Omnium's.     This  I  did  not  choose. 

"  I  find  that  I  sliall  want  a  little  more  money  before  I  leave  here,  five 
or  ten  pounds — say  ten  pounds.  If  you  can  not  spare  it,  get  it  from 
Davis.     He  owes  me  more  than  that,  a  good  deal. 

' '  And  now  God  bless  and  preserve  you,  my  own  love.  Kiss  my  dar- 
ling bairns  for  papa,  and  give  them  my  blessing. 

"Always  and  ever^our  own,  M.  E." 

And  then  there  was  written  on  an  outside  scrap  which 
was  folded  round  the  full-written  sheet  of  paper,  "  Mate  it 
as  smooth  at  Framley  Court  as  possible." 

However  strong,  and  reasonable,  and  unanswerable  the 
body  of  Mark's  letter  may  have  been,  all  his  hesitation, 
weakness,  doubt,  and  fear  were  expressed  in  this  short 
postscript. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

AMANTIUM   IR^    AMORIS   INTEGRATIO. 

And  now,  with  my  reader's  consent,  I  will  follow  the 
postman  with  that  letter  to  Framley ;  not  by  its  own  cir- 
cuitous route  indeed,  or  by  the  same  mode  of  conveyance ; 
for  that  letter  went  into  Barchester  by  tlie  Courcy  night 
mail-cart,  which,  on  its  road,  passes  through  the  villages  of 
Uffley  and  Chaldicotes,  reaching  Barchester  in  time  for  the 
up  mail-train  to  London.  By  that  train  the  letter  was  sent 
toward  the  metropolis  as  far  as  the  junction  of  the  Barset 
branch  line,  but  there  it  was  turned  in  its  course,  and  came 
down  again  by  the  main  line  as  far  as  Silvcrbridge ;  at 
which  place,  between  six  and  seven  in  the  morning,  it  was 
shouldered  by  the  Framley  footpost  messenger,  and  in  due 
course  delivered  at  the  Framley  Parsonage  exactly  as  Mrs. 
Robarts  had  finished  reading  prayers  to  the  four  servants. 
Or  I  should  say  rather  that  such  would  in  its  usual  course 
have  been  that  letter's  destiny.  As  it  was,  however,  it 
reached  Silvcrbridge  on  Sunday,  and  lay  there  till  the 
Monday,  as  the  Framley  people  have  declined  their  Sunday 
post.  And  then  again,  when  the  letter  was  delivered  at 
the  parsonage  on  that  wet  Monday  morning,  Mrs.  Robarts 
was  not  at  home.  As  we  are  all  aware,  she  was  staying 
with  her  ladyship  at  Framley  Court. 

"  Oh,  but  it's  mortial  wet,"  said  the  shivering  postman 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  51 

as  he  handed  in  that  and  the  vicar's  newspaper.  The 
vicar  was  a  man  of  the  world,  and  took  the  Jupiter. 

"  Come  in,  Robin  postman,  and  warm  theeself  a  while," 
said  Jemima  the  cook,  pushing  a  stool  a  little  to  one  side, 
but  still  well  in  front  of  the  big  kitchen  fire. 

"  Well,  I  dudna  jist  know  how  it'll  be.  The  wery  'edges 
'as  eyes,  and  tells  on  me  in  Silverbridge  if  I  so  much  as 
stops  to  pick  a  blackberry." 

"There  hain't  no  hedges  here,  mon,  nor  yet  no  black- 
berries, so  sit  thee  down  and  warm  theeself.  That's  bet- 
ter nor  blackberries,  I'm  thinking,"  and  she  haiided  him  a 
bowl  of  tea,  with  a  slice  of  buttered  toast. 

Robin  postman  took  the  proffered  tea,  put  his  dripping 
hat  on  the  ground,  and  thanked  Jemima  cook.  "  But  I 
dudna  jist  know  how  it'll  be,"  said  he ;  "  only  it  do  pour 
so  tarnation  heavy."  Which  among  us,  O  my  readers, 
could  have  withstood  that  temptation  ? 

Such  was  the  circuitous  course  of  Mark's  letter ;  but  as 
it  left  Chaldicotes  on  Saturday  evening,  and  reached  Mrs. 
Robarts  on  the  following  morning,  or  would  have  done  but 
for  that  intervening  Sunday,  doing  all  its  peregrinations 
during  the  night,  it  may  be  held  that  its  course  of  trans- 
port was  not  inconveniently  arranged.  We,  however,  will 
travel  by  a  much  shorter  route. 

Robin,  in  the  course  of  his  daily  travels,  passed  first  the 
post-office  at  Framley,  then  the  Framley  Court  back  en- 
trance, and  then  the  vicar's  house,  so  that  on  this  wet 
morning  Jemima  cook  was  not  able  to  make  use  of  his 
services  in  transporting  this  letter  back  to  her  mistress, 
for  Robin  had  got  another  village  before  him  expectant  of 
its  letters. 

"  Why  didn't  thee  leave  it,  mon,  with  Mr.  Apjilejohn  at 
the  Court  j^"  Mr.  Applejohn  was  the  butler  who  took  the 
letter-bag.     "  Thee  know'st  as  how  missus  was  there." 

And  then  Robin,  mindful  of  the  tea  and  toast,  explained 
to  her  courteously  how  the  law  made  it  imperative  on  him 
to  bring  the  letter  to  the  very  house  that  was  indicated, 
let  the  owner  of  the  letter  be  where  she  might;  and  he 
laid  down  the  law  very  satisfactorily,  with  sundry  long- 
worded  quotations.  Not  to  much  effect,  however,  for  the 
housemaid  called  him  an  oaf;  and  Robin  would  decidedly 
have  had  the  worst  of  it  had  not  the  gardener  come  in  and 
taken  his  part.     "  They  women  knows  nothin',  and  under- 


52  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

stands  nothin',"  said  the  gardener.  "Give  us  hold  of  the 
letter.  I'll  take  it  up  to  the  house.  It's  the  master's  fist." 
And  then  Robin  postman  went  on  one  way,  and  the  gar- 
dener he  went  the  other.  The  gardener  never  disUked  an 
excuse  for  going  u])  to  the  Court  gardens,  even  on  so  wet 
a  day  as  this. 

Mrs.  Robarts  was  sitting  over  the  drawing-room  fire 
with  Lady  Meredith  when  her  husband's  letter  was  brought 
to  her.  The  Framley  Court  letter-bag  had  been  discussed 
at  breakfast ;  but  that  was  now  nearly  an  hour  since,  and 
Lady  Lufton,  as  w^as  her  wont,  was  away  in  her  own  room 
writing  her  own  letters,  and  looking  after  her  own  mat- 
ters ;  for  Lady  Lufton  was  a  person  who  dealt  in  figures 
herself,  and  understood  business  almost  as  well  as  Harold 
Smith.  And  on  that  morning  she  also  had  received  a  let- 
ter which  had  displeased  her  not  a  little.  Whence  arose 
this  displeasure  neither  Mrs.  Robarts  nor  Lady  Meredith 
knew ;  but  her  ladyship's  brow  had  grown  black  at  break- 
fast-time; she  had  bundled  up  an  ominous-looking  epistle 
into  her  bag  without  speaking  of  it,  and  had  left  the  room 
immediately  that  breakfast  was  over. 

"  There's  something  wrong,"  said  Sir  George. 

"Mamma  does  fret  herself  so  much  about  Ludovic's 
money-matters,"  said  Lady  Meredith.  Ludovic  was  Lord 
Lufton — Ludovic  Lufton,  Baron  Lufton  of  Lufton,  in  the 
county  of  Oxfordshire. 

"And  yet  I  don't  think  Lufton  gets  much  astray,"  said 
Sir  George,  as  he  sauntered  out  of  the  room.  "  Well, 
Justy,  we'll  put  oft"  going  then  till  to-morrow ;  but  remem- 
ber, it  must  be  the  first  train."  Lady  Meredith  said  she 
would  remember,  and  then  they  went  into  the  drawing- 
room,  and  there  Mrs.  Robarts  received  her  letter. 

Fanny,  when  she  read  it,  hardly  at  first  realized  to  her- 
self the  idea  that  her  husband,  the  clergyman  of  Framley, 
the  family  clerical  friend  of  Lady  Lufton's  establishment, 
was  going  to  stay  with  the  Duke  of  Omnium.  It  was  so 
thoroughly  understood  at  Framley  Court  that  the  duke 
and  all  belonging  to  him  was  noxious  and  damnable.  He 
was  a  Whig,  he  was  a  bachelor,  he  was  a  gambler,  he  was 
immoral  in  every  way,  he  was  a  man  of  no  Church  princi- 
ple, a  corrupter  of  youth,  a  sworn  foe  of  young  wives,  a 
swallower  up  of  small  men's  patrimonies ;  a  man  whom 
mothers  feared  for  their  sons,  and  sisters  for  their  broth- 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  53 

crs ;  and  worse  again,  wliom  fathers  liad  cause  to  fear  for 
their  daugliters,  and  brothers  for  their  sisters ;  a  man  who, 
with  his  belongings,  dwelt,  and  must  dwell,  poles  asunder 
from  Lady  Lufton  and  her  belongings ! 

And  it  must  be  remembered  that  all  these  evil  things 
were  fully  believed  by  Mrs.  Robarts.  Could  it  really  be 
that  her  husband  was  going  to  dwell  in  the  halls  of  Apol- 
lyon,  to  shelter  himself  beneath  the  wings  of  this  very  Lu- 
cifer ?  A  cloud  of  sorrow  settled  upon  her  face,  and  then 
slie  read  the  letter  again  very  slowly,  not  omitting  the  tell- 
tale postscript. 

"  Oh,  Justiuia !"  at  last  she  said. 

"  What,  have  you  got  bad  news  too  ?" 

"I  hardly  know  how  to  tell  you  what  has  occurred. 
There !  I  suppose  you  had  better  read  it ;"  and  she  handed 
her  husband's  epistle  to  Lady  Meredith,  keeping  back,  how- 
ever, the  postscript. 

"  What  on  earth  will  her  ladyship  say  now  ?"  said  Lady 
Meredith,  as  she  folded  the  paper  and  replaced  it  in  the 
envelope. 

"  What  had  I  better  do,  Justinia?  h^w  had  I  better  tell 
her?"  And  then  the  two  ladies  put  their  heads  together, 
bethinking  themselves  how  they  might  best  deprecate  the 
wrath  of  Lady  Lufton.  It  had  been  arranged  that  Mrs. 
Robarts  should  go  back  to  the  parsonage  after  lunch,  and 
she  had  persisted  in  her  intention  after  it  had  been  settled 
that  the  Merediths  were  to  stay  over  that  evening.  Lady 
Meredith  now  advised  her  friend  to  carry  out  this  determ- 
ination without  saying  any  thing  about  her  husband's  ter- 
rible iniquities,  and  then  to  send  the  letter  up  to  Lady 
Lufton  as  soon  as  she  reached  the  parsonage.  "Mamma 
will  never  know  that  you  received  it  here,"  said  Lady 
Meredith. 

But  Mrs.  Robarts  would  not  consent  to  this.  Such  a 
course  seemed  to  her  to  be  cowardly.  She  knew  that  her 
husband  was  doing  wrong ;  she  felt  that  he  knew  it  him- 
self; but  still  it  was  necessary  that  she  should  defend  him. 
However  terrible  might  be  the  storm,  it  must  break  upon 
her  own  head.  So  she  at  once  A^ent  up  and  tapped  at 
Lady  Lufton's  private  door,  and  as  she  did  so  Lady  Mere- 
dith followed  her. 

"Come  in,"  said  Lady  Lufton,  and  the  voice  did  not 
sound  soft  and  pleasant.     When  they  entered,  they  found 


54  FRAMLEY   PAKSONAGE. 

her  sitting  at  her  little  writing-table,  with  her  head  resting 
on  her  arm,  and  that  letter  which  she  had  received  that 
morning  was  lying  open  on  the  table  before  her.  Indeed, 
there  were  two  letters  now  there,  one  from  a  London  law- 
yer to  herself,  and  the  other  from  her  son  to  that  London 
lawyer.  It  needs  only  be  explained  that  the  subject  of 
those  letters  was  the  immediate  sale  of  that  outlying  por- 
tion of  the  Lufton  property  in  Oxfordshire,  as  to  which 
Mr.  Sowerby  once  spoke.  Lord  Lufton  had  told  the  law- 
yer that  the  thing  must  be  done  at  once,  adding  that  his 
friend  Robarts  would  have  explained  the  whole  affair  to 
his  mother.  And  then  the  lawyer  had  written  to  Lady 
Lufton,  as  indeed  was  necessary;  but,  unfortunately,  Lady 
Lufton  had  not  hitherto  heard  a  word  of  the  matter. 

In  her  eyes  the  sale  of  family  property  was  horrible ; 
the  fact  that  a  young  man  with  some  fifteen  or  twenty 
thousand  a  year  should  require  subsidiary  money  was  hor- 
rible ;  that  her  own  son  should  have  not  Avritten  to  her 
himself  was  horrible ;  and  it  was  also  horrible  that  her  own 
pet,  the  clergyman  whom  she  had  brought  there  to  be  her 
son's  friend,  should  be  mixed  up  in  the  matter — should  be 
cognizant  of  it  while  she  was  not  cognizant — should  be  em- 
ployed in  it  as  a  go-between  and  agent  in  her  son's  bad 
courses.  It  was  all  horrible,  and  Lady  Lufton  was  sitting 
there  with  a  black  brow  and  an  uneasy  heart.  As  regard- 
ed our  poor  parson,  we  may  say  that  in  this  matter  he  was 
blameless,  except  that  he  had  hitherto  lacked  the  courage 
to  execute  his  friend's  commission. 

"  What  is  it,  Fanny  ?"  said  Lady  Lufton  as  soon  as  the 
door  Avas  opened ;  "  I  should  have  been  down  in  half  an 
liour,  if  you  wanted  me,  Justinia." 

"  Fanny  has  received  a  letter  which  makes  her  wish  to 
speak  to  you  at  once,"  said  Lady  Meredith. 

"What  letter,  Fanny?" 

Poor  Fanny's  heart  was  in  her  mouth ;  she  held  it  in  her 
hand,  but  had  not  yet  quite  made  up  her  mind  whether 
she  would  show  it  bodily  to  Lady  Lufton. 

"  From  Mr.  Robarts,"  she  said. 

"'  Well,  I  suppose  he'  is  going  to  stay  another  week  at 
Chaldicotes.  For  my  part,  I  should  be  as  Well  pleased ;" 
and  Lady  Lufton's  voice  was  not  friendly,  for  she  was  think- 
ing of  that  farm  in  Oxfordshire.  The  imprudence  of  the 
young  is  very  sore  to  the  prudence  of  their  elders.     'No 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  55 

woman  could  be  less  covetous,  less  grasping  than  Lady 
Lufton ;  but  the  sale  of  a  portion  of  the  old  family  proper- 
ty was  to  her  as  the  loss  of  her  own  heart's  blood. 

"  Here  is  the  letter,  Lady  Lufton ;  perhaps  you  had  bet- 
ter read  it ;"  and  Fanny  handed  it  to  her,  again  keeping 
back  the  postscript.  She  had  read  and  reread  the  letter 
down  stairs,  but  could  not  make  out  whether  her  husband 
had  intended  her  to  show  it.  From  the  line  of  the  argu- 
ment she  thought  that  he  must  have  done  so.  At  any  rate, 
he  said  for  himself  more  than  she  could  say  for  him,  and 
so,  probably,  it  was  best  that  her  ladyship  should  see  it. 

Lady  Lufton  took  it  and  read  it,  and  her  face  grew 
blacker  and  blacker.  Her  mind  was  set  against  the  writer 
before  she  began  it,  and  every  word  in  it  tended  to  make 
her  feel  more  estranged  from  him.  "  Oh,  he  is  going  to 
the  palace,  is  he — well ;  he.  must  choose  his  own  friends. 
Harold  Smith  one  of  his  party !  It's  a  pity,  my  dear,  he 
did  not  see  Miss  Proudie  before  he  met  you;  he  might 
have  lived  to  be  the  bishop's  chaplain.  Gatherum  Castle ! 
You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  he  is  going  there  ?  Then 
I  tell  you  fairly,  Fanny,  that  I  have  done  with  him." 

"  Oh,  Lady  Lufton,  don't  say  that,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts, 
with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  Mamma,  mamma,  don't  speak  in  that  way,"  said  Lady 
Meredith. 

"  But,  my  dear,  what  am  I  to  say  ?  I  must  speak  in 
that  way.  You  would  not  wish  me  to  speak  falsehoods, 
would  you  ?  A  man  must  choose  for  himself,  but  he  can't 
live  with  two  different  sets  of  people  ;  at  least,  not  if  I  be- 
long to  one  and  the  Duke  of  Omnium  to  the  other.  The 
bishop  going  indeed !  If  there  be  any  thing  that  I  hate,  it 
is  hypocrisy." 

"  There  is  no  hypocrisy  in  that,  Lady  Lufton." 

"But  I  say  there  is,  Fanny.  Very  strange,  indeed! 
'  Put  off  his  defense !'  Why  should  a  man  need  any  de- 
fense to  his  wife  if  he  acts  in  a  straightforward  way  ?  His 
own  language  condemns  him :  '  Wrong  to  stand  out !' 
Now,  will  either  of  you  tell  me  that  Mr.  Robarts  would 
really  have  thought  it  wrong  to  refuse  that  invitation  ?  I 
say  that  that  is  hypocrisy.    There  is  no  other  word  for  it." 

By  this  time  the  poor  wife,  who  had  been  in  tears,  was 
wiping  them  away  and  preparing  for  action.  Lady  Luf- 
ton's  extreme  severity  gave  her  courage.     She  knew  that 


5G  FRAMLEY    PAESOXAGE. 

it  behooved  her  to  fight  for  her  husband  when  he  was  thus 
attacked.  Had  Lady  Lufton  been  moderate  in  her  re- 
marks, Mrs.  Robarts  would  not  have  liad  a  w^ord  to  say. 

"  My  husband  may  have  been  ill-judged,"  she  said,  "  but 
he  is  no  hypocrite." 

"  Yery  well,  my  dear,  I  dare  say  you  know  better  than 
I ;  but  to  me  it  looks  extremely  like  hypocrisy — eh,  Jus- 
tinia?" 

"  Oh,  mamma,  do  be  moderate." 

"Moderate !  That's  all  very  well.  How  is  one  to  mod- 
erate one's  feelings  when  one  has  been  betrayed  ?" 

"  You  do  not  mean  that  Mr.  Robarts  has  betrayed  you?" 
said  the  wife. 

"  Oh  no,  of  course  not."  And  then  she  went  on  read- 
ing the  letter:  "'Seem  to  have  been  standing  in  judgment 
upon  the  duke.'  Might  he  not.  use  the  same  argument  as 
to  going  into  any  house  in  the  kingdom,  however  infa- 
mous ?  We  must  all  stand  in  judgment  one  upon  another 
in  that  sense.  '  Crawley !'  Yes ;  if  he  were  a  little  more 
like  Mr.  Crawley,  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  me,  and  for 
the  parish,  and  for  you  too,  my  dear.  God  forgive  me  for 
bringing  him  here,  that's  all." 

"  Lady  Lufton,  I  must  say  that  you  are  very  hard  upon 
him — very  hard.     I  did  not  expect  it  from  such  a  friend." 

"  My  dear,  you  ought  to  know  me  well  enough  to  be 
sure  that  I  shall  speak  my  mind.  'Written  to  Jones' — 
yes ;  it  is  easy  enough  to  write  to  poor  Jones.  He  had 
better  Avrite  to  Jones,  and  bid  him  do  the  whole  duty. 
Then  lie  can  go  and  be  the  duke's  domestic  chaplain." 

"I  believe  my  husband  does  as  much  of  his  own  duty 
as  any  clergyman  in  the  whole  diocese,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts, 
now  again  in  tears. 

"  And  you  are  to  take  his  work  in  the  school — you  and 
Mrs.  Podgens.  What  with  his  curate,  and  his  wife,  and 
Mrs.  Podgens,  I  don't  see  why  he  should  come  back  at  all." 

"  Oh,  mamma,"  said  Justinia,  "  pray,  pray  don't  be  so 
harsh  to  her." 

"  Let  me  finish  it,  my  dear — oh,  here  I  come.  '  Tell  her 
ladyship  my  whereabouts.'  He  little  thought  you'd  show 
me  this  letter." 

"  Didn't  he  ?"  said  Mrs.  Robarts,  putting  out  her  hand 
to  get  it  back,  but  in  vain.  "  I  thought  it  was  for  the  best 
— I  did  indeed." 


FKAMLEY   PAKSONAGE.  57 

"  I  had  better  finish  it  now,  if  you  please.  What  is  this? 
How  does  he  dare  send  his  ribald  jokes  to  me  in  such  a 
matter  ?  No,  I  do  not  suppose  I  ever  shall  like  Dr.  Prou- 
die ;  I  have  never  expected  it.  A  matter  of  conscience 
with  him !  Well — well,  well.  Had  I  not  read  it  myself, 
I  could  not  have  believed  it  of  him ;  I  would  not  positive- 
ly have  believed  it.  '  Coming  from  my  parish,  he  could 
not  go  to  the  Duke  of  Omnium !'  And  it  is  what  I  would 
wish  to  have  said.  People  fit  for  this  parish  should  not  be 
fit  for  the  Duke  of  Omnium's  house.  And  I  had  trusted 
that  he  would  have  this  feeling  more  strongly  than  any 
one  else  in  it.     I  have  been  deceived — that's  all." 

"  He  has  done  nothing  to  deceive  you,  Lady  Lufton." 

"  I  hope  he  will  not  have  deceived  you,  my  dear.  '  More 
money ;'  yes,  it  is  probable  that  he  will  want  more  money. 
There  is  your  letter,  Fanny.  I  am  very  sorry  for  it.  I 
can  say  nothing  more."  And  she  folded  up  the  letter  and 
gave  it  back  to  Mrs.  Robarts. 

"  I  thought  it  right  to  show  it  you,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts. 

"It  did  not  much  matter  whether  you  did  or  no;  of 
course  I  must  have  been  told." 

"  He  especially  begs  me  to  tell  you." 

"  Why,  yes ;  he  could  not  very  well  have  kept  me  in  the 
dark  in  such  a  matter.  He  could  not  neglect  his  own 
work,  and  go  and  live  with  gamblers  and  adulterers  at  the 
Duke  of  Omnium's  without  my  knowing  it." 

And  now  Fanny  Robarts's  cup  was  full — full  to  the  over- 
flowing. When  she  heard  these  words  she  forgot  all  about 
Lady  Lufton,  all  about  Lady  Meredith,  and  remembered 
only  her  husband — that  he  was  her  husband,  and,  in  spite 
of  his  faults,  a  good  and  loving  husband ;  and  that  other 
fact  also  she  remembered,  that  she  was  his  Avife. 

"  Lady  Lufton,"  she  said,  "  you  forget  yourself  in  speak- 
ing in  that  way  of  my  husband." 

"  What !"  said  her  ladyship ;  "  you  are  to  show  me  such 
a  letter  as  that,  and  I  am  not  to  tell  you  what  I  think  ?" 

"  Not  if  you  think  such  hard  things  as  that.  Even  you 
are  not  justified  in  speaking  to  me  in  that  way,  and  I  will 
not  hear  it." 

"Heighty-tighty!"  said  her  ladyship. 

"  Whether  or  no  he  is  right  in  going  to  the  Duke  of 
Omnium's,  I  will  not  pretend  to  judge.  He  is  the  judge 
of  his  own  actions,  and  neither  you  nor  I." 

C  2 


o8  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

"And  when  he  leaves  you  with  the  butcher's  bill  unpaid, 
and  no  money  to  buy  shoes  for  the  children,  who  will  be 
the  judge  then  ?" 

"  Not  you,  Lady  Lufton.  If  such  bad  days  should  ever 
come — and  neither  you  nor  I  have  a  right  to  expect  them 
— I  will  not  come  to  you  in  my  troubles — -not  after  this." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear.  You  may  go  to  the  Duke  of 
Omnium,  if  that  suits  you  better." 

"  Fanny,  come  away,"  said  Lady  Meredith.  "  Why 
should  you  try  to  anger  my  mother  ?" 

"  I  don't  want  to  anger  her ;  but  I  won't  hear  him  abused 
in  that  way  without  speaking  up  for  him.  If  I  don't  de- 
fend him,  who  will?  Lady  Lufton  has  said  terrible  things 
about  him,  and  they  are  not  true." 

"  Oh,  Fanny !"  said  Justinia. 

"Very  well,  very  well,"  said  Lady  Lufton.  "  This  is  the 
sort  of  return  that  one  gets." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  return,  Lady  Lufton ; 
but  would  you  wish  me  to  stand  by  quietly  and  hear  such 
things  said  of  my  husband  ?  He  does  not  live  with  such 
eople  as  you  have  named.  He  does  not  neglect  his  duties, 
f  every  clergyman  were  as  much  in  his  parish,  it  would 
be  well  for  some  of  them.  And  in  going  to  such  a  house 
as  the  Duke  of  Omnium's,  it  does  make  a  difference  that 
he  goes  there  in  company  with  the  bishop.  I  can't  explain 
why,  but  I  know  that  it  does." 

"Especially  when  the  bishop  is  coupled  up  with  the 
devil,  as  Mr.  Robarts  has  done,"  said  Lady  Lufton ;  "  he 
can  join  the  duke  with  them,  and  then  they'll  stand  for  the 
three  Graces,  won't  they,  Justinia?"  And  Lady  Lufton 
laughed  a  bitter  little  laugh  at  her  own  wit. 

"  I  suppose  I  may  go  now.  Lady  Lufton." 

"  Oh  yes,  certainly,  my  dear." 

"I  am  sorry  if  I  have  made  you  angry  with  me,  but  I 
will  not  allow  any  one  to  speak  against  Mr.  Robarts  with- 
out answering  them.  You  have  been  very  unjust  to  him ; 
and,  even  though  I  do  anger  you,  I  must  say  so." 

"Come,  Fanny,  this  is  too  bad,"  said  Lady  Lufton. 
"  You  have  been  scolding  me  for  the  last  half  hour  because 
I  would  not  congratulate  you  on  this  new  friend  that  your 
husband  has  made,  and  now  you  are  going  to"  begin  it  all 
over  again.  That  is  more  than  I  can  stand.  If  you  have 
nothing  else  particular  to  say,  you  might  as  well  leave  me." 


I 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  59 

And  Lady  Lufton's  face,  as  she  spoke,  was  unbending,  se- 
vere, and  harsh. 

Mrs.  Robarts  had  never  before  been  so  spoken  to  by  her 
old  friend ;  indeed,  she  had  never  been  so  spoken  to  by  any 
one,  and  she  hardly  knew  how  to  bear  herself. 

"  Very  well,  Lady  Lufton,"  she  said ;  *'  then  I  will  go. 
Good-by.» 

"  Good-by,"  said  Lady  Lufton  ;  and,  turning  herself  to 
her  table,  she  began  to  arrange  her  papers.  Fanny  had 
never  before  left  Framley  Court  to  go  back  to  her  own 
parsonage  without  a  warm  embrace.  Now  she  was  to  do 
so  without  even  having  her  hand  taken.  Had  it  come  to 
this,  that  there  was  absolutely  to  be  a  quarrel  between 
them — a  quarrel  forever  ? 

"  Fanny  is  going,  you  know,  mamma,"  said  Lady  Mer- 
edith.    "  She  will  be  home  before  you  are  down  again." 

"I  can  not  help  it,  my  dear.  Fanny  must  do  as  she 
pleases.  I  am  not  to  be  the  judge  of  her  actions.  She  has 
just  told  me  so." 

Mrs.  Robarts  had  said  nothing  of  the  kind,  but  she  was 
far  too  proud  to  point  this  out.  So,  with  a  gentle  step, 
she  retreated  through  the  door,  and  then  Lady  Meredith, 
having  tried  what  a  concihatory  whisper  with  her  mother 
would  do,  followed  her.  Alas!  the  conciliatory  whisper 
was  altogether  ineffectual. 

The  two  ladies  said  nothing  as  they  descended  the  stairs, 
but  when  they  had  regained  the  drawing-room  they  looked 
with  blank  horror  into  each  other's  faces.  What  were 
they  to  do  now  ?  Of  such  a  tragedy  as  this  they  had  had 
no  remotest  preconception.  Was  it  absolutely  the  case  that 
Fanny  Robarts  was  to  walk  out  of  Lady  Lufton's  house  as 
a  declared  enemy — she  who,  before  her  marriage  as  well 
as  since,  had  been  almost  treated  as  an  adopted  daughter 
of  the  family? 

"  Oh,  Fanny,  why  did  you  answer  my  mother  in  that 
way?"  said  Lady  Meredith.  "  You  saw  that  she  was  vex- 
ed. *She  had  other  things  to  vex  her  besides  this  about 
Mr.  Robarts." 

"  And  would  not  you  answer  any  one  who  attacked  Sir 
George  ?" 

"No,  not  my  own  mother.  I  would  let  her  say  what 
she  pleased,  and  leave  Sir  George  to  fight  his  own  bat- 
tles." 


CO  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

"  Ah !  but  it  is  different  with  you.  You  are  her  daugh- 
ter, and  Sir  George^  she  would  not  dare  to  speak  in  that 
way  as  to  Sir  George's  doings." 

"  Indeed  she  would,  if  it  pleased  her.  I  am  sorry  I  let 
you  go  up  to  her." 

"  It  is  as  well  that  it  should  be  over,  Justinia.  As  those 
are  her  thoughts  about  Mr.  Robarts,  it  is  quite  as  well  that 
we  should  know  them.  Even  for  all  that  I  owe  to  her, 
and  all  the  love  I  bear  to  you,  I  will  not  come  to  this  house 
if  I  am  to  hear  my  husband  abused — not  into  any  house." 

"  My  dearest  Fanny,  we  all  know  w^hat  happens  when 
two  angry  people  get  together." 

"I  was  not  angry  when  I  went  up  to  her — not  in  the 
least." 

"  It  is  no  good  looking  back.  What  are  we  to  do  now, 
Fanny?" 

"  I  suppose  I  had  better  go  home,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts. 
"I  will  go  and  put  my  things  ujd,  and  then  I  Avill  send 
James  for  them." 

"  Wait  till  after  lunch,  and  then  you  will  be  able  to  kiss 
ray  mother  before  you  leave  us." 

"No,  Justinia,  I  can  not  wait.  I  must  answer  Mr.  Rob- 
arts by  this  post,  and  I  must  think  what  I  have  to  say  to 
him,  I  could  not  write  that  letter  here,  and  the  post  goes 
at  four."  And  Mrs.  Robarts  got  up  from  her  chair  pre- 
paratory to  her  final  departure. 

"I  shall  come  to  you  before  dinner,"  said  Lady  Mere- 
dith ;  "  and  if  I  can  bring  you  good  tidings,  I  shall  expect 
you  to  come  back  here  with  me.  It  is  out  of  the  question 
that  I  should  go  away  from  Framley  leaving  you  and  my 
mother  at  enmity  wdth  each  other." 

To  this  Mrs.  Robarts  made  no  answer ;  and  in  a  very 
few  minutes  afterward  she  w^as  in  her  own  nursery,  kissing 
her  children,  and  teaching  the  elder  one  to  say  something 
about  papa.  But,  even  as  she  taught  him,  the  tears  stood 
in  her  eyes,  and  the  little  fellow  knew  that  every  thing 
w^as  not  right. 

And  there  she  sat  till  about  two,  doing  little  odds  and 
ends  of  things  for  the  children,  and  allowing  that  occupa- 
tion to  stand  as  an  excuse  to  her  for  not  commencing  her 
letter.  But  then  there  remained  only  two  hours  to  her, 
and  it  might  be  that  the  letter  would  be  difficult  in  the 
writing — would  require  thought  and   changes,  and  must 


FRAMLEY    PAKSOXAGE.  61 

needs  be  copied,  perhaps  more  than  once.  As  to  the  mon- 
ey, that  she  had  in  the  house — as  much,  at  least,  as  Mark 
now  wanted,  though  the  sending  of  it  would  leave  her 
nearly  penniless.  She  could,  however,  in  case  of  personal 
need,  resort  to  Davis,  as  desired  by  him. 

So  she  got  out  her  desk  in  the  drawing-room,  and  sat 
down  and  wrote  her  letter.  It  was  difficult,  though  she 
found  that  it  hardly  took  so  long  as  she  expected.  It  was 
difficult,  for  she  felt  bound  to  tell  him  the  truth ;  and  yet  she 
was  anxious  not  to  spoil  all  his  pleasure  among  his  friends. 
She  told  him,  however,  that  Lady  Lufton  was  very  angry — 
"  unreasonably  angry,  I  must  say,"  she  put  in,  in  order  to 
show  that  she  had  not  sided  against  him.  "  And,  indeed, 
we  have  quite  quarreled,  and  this  has  made  me  imhappy,  as 
it  will  you,  dearest ;  I  know  that.  But  we  both  know  how 
good  slie  is  at  heart,  and  Justinia  thinks  that  she  had  other 
things  to  trouble  her ;  and  I  hope  it  will  all  be  made  up 
before  you  come  home ;  only,  dearest  Mark,  pray  do  not 
be  longer  than  you  said  in  your  last  letter."  And  then 
there  were  three  or  four  paragraphs  about  the  babies,  and 
two  about  the  schools,  which  I  may  as  well  omit. 

She  had  just  finished  her  letter,  and  was  carefully  folding 
it  for  its  envelope,  with  the  two  whole  five-pound  notes 
imprudently  placed  within  it,  when  she  heard  a  footstep 
on  the  gravel  path  which  led  up  from  a  small  wicket  to  the 
front  door.  The  path  ran  near  the  drawing-room  window, 
and  she  was  just  in  time  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  last  fold 
of  a  passing  cloak.  "  It  is  Justinia,"  she  said  to  herself; 
and  her  heart  became  disturbed  at  the  idea  of  again  dis- 
cussing the  morning's  adventure.  "What  am  I  to  do," 
she  had  said  to  herself  before,  "  if  she  wants  me  to  beg 
her  pardon?"  I  Avill  not  own  before  her  that  he  is  in  the 
wrong." 

And  then  the  door  opened — for  the  visitor  made  her  en- 
trance without  the  aid  of  any  servant — and  Lady  Lufton 
herself  stood  before  her.  "  Fanny,"  she  said  at  once,  "  I 
have  come  to  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Oh,  Lady  Lufton !" 

"  I  was  very  much  harassed  when  you  came  to  me  just 
now — by  more  things  than  one,  my  dear.  But,  neverthe- 
less, I  should  not  have  spoken  to  you  of  your  husband  as  I 
did,  and  so  I  have  come  to  beg  your  pardon." 

Mrs.  Robarts  was  past  answering  by  the  time  that  this 


6'2  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

was  said — past  answering  at  least  in  words;  so  she  jumped 
up,  and,  with  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  threw  herself  into  her 
old  friend's  arms.  "  Oh,  Lady  Lufton  !"  she  sobbed  forth 
again. 

"  You  will  forgive  me,  won't  you  ?"  said  her  ladyship, 
as  she  returned  her  young  friend's  caress.  "  Well,  that's 
right.  I  have  not  been  at  all  happy  since  you  left  my  den 
this  morning,  and  I  don't  suppose  you  have.  But,  Fanny, 
dearest,  we  love  each  other  too  well  and  know  each  other 
too  thoroughly  to  have  a  long  quarrel,  don't  we  ?" 

"  Oh  yes.  Lady  Lufton." 

"  Of  course  we  do.  Friends  are  not  to  be  picked  up  on 
the  road-side  every  day,  nor  are  they  to  be  thrown  away 
lightly.  And  now  sit  down,  my  love,  and  let  us  have  a 
little  talk.  There,  I  must  take  my  bonnet  off.  You  have 
pulled  the  strings  so  that  you  have  almost  choked  me." 
And  Lady  Lufton  deposited  her  bonnet  on  the  table,  and 
seated  herself  comfortably  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa. 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  "there  is  no  duty  which  any 
woman  owes  to  any  other  human  being  at  all  equal  to  that 
which  she  owes  to  her  husband,  and  therefore  you  were 
quite  right  to  stand  uj)  for  Mr.  Robarts  this  morning." 

Upon  this  Mrs.  Robarts  said  nothing,  but  she  got  her 
hand  within  that  of  her  ladyship  and  gave  it  a  slight 
squeeze. 

"  And  I  loved  you  for  what  you  were  doing  all  the  time. 
I  did,  my  dear,  though  you  were  a  little  fierce,  you  know. 
Even  Justinia  admits  that,  and  she  has  been  at  me  ever 
since  you  went  away.  And,  indeed,  I  did  not  know  that  it 
was  in  you  to  look  in  that  way  out  of  those  pretty  eyes  of 
yours." 

"  Oh,  Lady  Lufton !" 

"  But  I  looked  fierce  enough  too  myself,  I  dare  say,  so 
we'll  say  nothing  more  about  that — will  we?  But  now 
about  this  good  man  of  yours  ?" 

"  Dear  Lady  Lufton,  you  must  forgive  him." 

"  Well,  as  you  ask  me,  I  will.  We'll  have  nothing  more 
said  about  the  duke,  either  now  or  when  he  comes  back — 
not  a  word.     Let  me  see — he's  to  be  back — when  is  it  ?" 

"  Wednesday  week,  I  think." 

"Ah !  Wednesday.  Well,  tell  him  to  come  and  dine  up 
at  the  house  on  Wednesday.  He'll  be  in  time,  I  suppose, 
and  there  sha'n't  be  a  word  said  about  this  horrid  duke." 


FHAMLEY    PAKSONAGE.  63 

"  I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you,  Lady  Lufton." 

"  But  look  here,  my  dear ;  beUeve  me,  he's  better  off 
Avithout  such  friends." 

"  Oh,  I  know  he  is — much  better  off." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you  admit  that,  for  I  thought  you 
seemed  to  be  in  favor  of  the  duke." 

"  Oh  no,  Lady  Lufton." 

"  That's  right,  then.  And  now,  if  you'll  take  my  ad- 
vice, you'll  use  your  influence  as  a  good,  dear,  sweet  wife 
as  you  are,  to  prevent  his  going  there  any  more.  I'm  an 
old  woman,  and  he  is  a  young  man,  and  it's  very  natural 
that  he  should  think  me  behind  the  times.  I'm  not  angry 
at  that.  But  he'll  find  that  it's  better  for  him — better  for 
him  in  every  way,  to  stick  to  his  old  friends.  It  will  bo 
better  for  his  peace  of  mind,  better  for  his  character  as  a 
clergyman,  better  for  his  pocket,  better  for  his  children  and 
for  you,  and  better  for  his  eternal  welfare.  The  duke  is 
not  such  a  companion  as  he  should  seek;  nor,  if  he  is 
sought,  should  he  allow  himself  to  be  led  away." 

And  then  Lady  Lufton  ceased,  and  Fanny  Robarts, 
kneeling  at  her  feet,  sobbed,  with  her  face  hidden  on  her 
friend's  knees.  She  had  not  a  word  now  to  say  as  to  her 
husband's  capability  of  judging  for  himself 

"  And  now  I  must  be  going  again  ;  but  Justinia  has 
made  mo  promise — promise,  mind  you,  most  solemnly, 
that  I  would  have  you  back  to  dinner  to-night — by  force  if 
necessary.  It  was  the  only  way  I  could  make  my  peace 
with  her;  so  you  must  not  leave  me  in  the  lurch."  Of 
course,  Fanny  said  that  she  would  go  and  dine  at  Framley 
Court. 

"  And  you  must  not  send  that  letter,  by  any  means," 
said  her  ladyship,  as  she  was  leaving  the  room,  poking 
with  her  umbrella  at  the  epistle  which  lay  directed  on  Mrs. 
Robarts's  desk.  "  I  can  understand  very  well  what  it  con- 
tains. You  must  alter  it  altogether,  my  dear."  And  then 
Lady  Lufton  went. 

]Mrs.  Robarts  instantly  rushed  to  her  desk  and  tore  open 
her  letter.  Slie  looked  at  her  watch,  and  it  was  past  four. 
She  had  hardly  begun  another  when  the  postman  came. 
"  Oh,  Mary,"  she  said,  "  do  make  him  wait.  If  he'll  wait 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  I'll  give  him  a  shilling." 

"  There's  no  need  of  that,  ma'am.  Let  him  have  a  glass 
of  beer." 


C4  FRxVMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

"  Very  Avell,  Mary ;  but  don't  give  him  too  much,  for 
fear  he  should  drop  the  letters  about.  I'll  be  ready  in  ten 
minutes." 

And  in  five  minutes  she  had  scrawled  a  very  different 
sort  of  a  letter.  But  he  might  want  the  money  immedi- 
ately, so  she  w^ould  not  delay  it  for  a  day. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Mil 


On  the  whole,  the  party  at  Chaldicotes  was  very  pleas- 
ant, and  the  time  passed  away  quickly  enough.  Mr.  Rob- 
arts's  chief  friend  there,  independently  of  Mr.  Sowerby, 
was  Miss  Dunstable,  who  seemed  to  take  a  great  fancy  to 
him,  whereas  she  was  not  very  accessible  to  the  blandish- 
ments of  Mr.  Supplehouse,  nor  more  specially  courteous 
even  to  her  host  than  good  manners  required  of  her.  But 
then  Mr.  Supplehouse  and  Mr.  Sowerby  were  both  bache- 
lors, while  Mark  Robarts  was  a  married  man. 

With  Mr.  Sowerby  Robarts  had  more  than  one  commu- 
nication respecting  Lord  Lufton  and  his  affairs,  which  ho 
would  willingly  have  avoided  had  it  been  possible.  Sow- 
erby w^as  one  of  those  men  who  are  ahvays  mixing  up  busi- 
ness with  pleasure,  and  w^ho  have  usually  some  scheme  in 
their  mind  Avhich  requires  forwarding.  Men  of  this  class 
have,  as  a  rule,  no  daily  work,  no  regular  routine  of  labor ; 
but  it  may  be  doubted  w^hether  they  do  not  toil  much  more 
incessantly  than  those  who  have. 

"  Lufton  is  so  dilatory,"  Mr.  Sowerby  said.  "  Why  did 
he  not  arrange  this  at  once,  wdien  he  promised  it  ?  And 
then  he  is  so  afraid  of  that  old  woman  at  Framley  Court. 
Well,  my  dear  fellow,  say  what  you  will,  she  is  an  old  wom- 
an, and  she'll  never  be  younger.  But  do  Avrite  to  Lufton, 
and  tell  him  that  this  delay  is  inconvenient  to  me ;  he'll 
do  any  thing  for  you,  I  know." 

Mark  said  that  he  w^ould  w^'ite,  and,  indeed,  did  do  so ; 
but  he  did  not  at  first  like  the  tone  of  the  conversation  into 
which  he  was  dragged.  It  w^as  very  painful  to  him  to  hear 
Lady  Lufton  called  an  old  woman,  and  hardly  less  so  to 
discuss  the  propriety  of  Lord  Lufton's  parting  with  his 
property.     This  was  irksome  to  him  till  habit  made  it 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  65 

easy.  But  by  degrees  his  feelings  became  less  acute,  and 
he  accustomed  himself  to  his  friend  Sowerby's  mode  of 
talking. 

And  then  on  the  Saturday  afternoon  they  all  went  over 
to  Barchester.  Harold  Smith  during  the  last  forty-eight 
hours  had  become  crammed  to  overflowing  with  Sarawak, 
Labuan,  New  Guinea,  and  the  Salomon  Islands.  As  is  the 
case  with  all  men  laboring  under  temporary  specialities,  he 
for  the  time  had  faith  in  nothing  else,  and  was  not  content 
that  any  one  near  him  should  have  any  other  faith.  They 
called  him  Viscount  Papua  and  Baron  Borneo;  and  his 
Avife,  who  headed  the  joke  against  him,  insisted  on  having 
lier  title.  Miss  Dunstable  swore  that  she  would  wed  none 
but  a  South  Sea  Islander;  and  to  Mark  was  offered  the 
income  and  duties  of  Bishop  of  Spices.  Nor  did  the  Prou- 
die  family  set  themselves  against  these  little  sarcastic  quips 
with  any  overwhelming  severity.  It  is  sweet  to  unbend 
one's  self  at  the  proper  opportunity,  and  this  was  the  prop- 
er opportunity  for  Mrs.  Proudie's  unbending.  No  mortal 
can  be  seriously  wise  at  all  liours ;  and  in  these  happy 
hours  did  that  usually  wise  mortal,  the  bishop,  lay  aside 
for  a  while  his  serious  wisdom. 

"  We  think  of  dining  at  five  to-morrow,  my  Lady  Papua," 
said  the  facetious  bishop  ;  "  will  that  suit  his  lordship  and 
the  affairs  of  state  ?  he !  he !  he !"  And  the  good  prelate 
laughed  at  the  fun. 

How  pleasantly  young  men  and  women  of  fifty  or  there^ 
abouts  can  joke,  and  flirt,  and  poke  their  fun  about,  laugh- 
ing and  holding  their  sides,  dealing  in  little  innuendoes, 
and  rejoicing  in  nicknames,  when  they  have  no  Mentors  of 
twenty-five  or  thirty  near  them  to  keep  them  in  ordei: 
The  Vicar  of  Framley  might  perhaps  have  been  regarded 
as  such  a  Mentor,  were  it  not  for  that  capability  of  adapt- 
ing himself  to  the  company  immediately  around  him  on 
which  he  so  much  piqued  himself.  He  therefore  also 
talked  to  my  Lady  Papua,  and  was  jocose  about  the  bar- 
on— not  altogether  to  the  satisfaction  of  Harold  Smith  him- 
self. 

For  Mr.  Harold  Smith  was  in  earnest,  and  did  not  quite 
relish  these  jocundities.  He  had  an  idea  that  he  could  in 
about  three  months  talk  the  British  world  into  civilizing 
New  Guinea,  and  that  the  world  of  Barsetshire  would  be 
made  to  go  with  him  by  one  night's  efforts.     He  did  not 


60  PRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

understand  why  others  should  be  less  serious,  and  was  in- 
clined to  resent  somewhat  stiffly  the  amenities  of  our  friend 
Mark. 

"  We  must  not  keep  the  baron  waiting,"  said  Mark,  as 
they  were  preparing  to  start  for  Barchester. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  the  baron,  sir,"  said 
Harold  Smith.  "  But  perhaps  the  joke  will  be  against  you 
when  you  are  getting  up  into  your  pulpit  to-morrow  and 
sending  the  hat  round  among  the  clodhoppers  of  Chaldi- 
cotes." 

"  Those  who  live  in  glass  houses  shouldn't  throw  stones 
— eh,  baron?"  said  Miss  Dunstable.  "Mr.  Robarts's  ser- 
mon will  be  too  near  akin  to  your  lecture  to  allow  of  his 
lauohinoj." 

"If  we  can  do  nothing  toward  instructing  the  outer 
world  till  it's  done  by  the  parsons,"  said  Harold  Smith, 
"  the  outer  world  will  have  to  wait  a  long  time,  I  fear." 

"  Nobody  can  do  any  thing  of  that  kind  short  of  a  mem- 
ber of  Parliament  and  a  would-be  minister,"  whispered 
Mrs.  Harold. 

And  so  they  were  all  very  pleasant  together,  in  spite  of 
a  little  fencing  with  edge  tools ;  and  at  three  o'clock  the 
cortege  of  carriages  started  for  Barchester,  that  of  the  bish- 
op, of  course,  leading  the  way.  His  lordship,  however, 
was  not  in  it. 

"  Mrs.  Proudie,  I'm  sure  you'll  let  me  go  with  you," 
said  Miss  Dunstable,  at  the  last  moment,  as  she  came  down 
the  big  stone  steps.  "  I  want  to  hear  the  rest  of  that  story 
about  Mr.  Slope." 

Now  this  upset  every  thing.  The  bishop  was  to  have 
gone  with  his  wife,  Mrs.  Smith,  and  Mark  Robarts ;  and 
Mr.  Sowerby  had  so  arranged  matters  that  he  could  have 
accompanied  Miss  Dunstable  in  his  phaeton.  But  no  one 
ever  dreamed  of  denying  Miss  Dunstable  any  thing.  Of 
course,  Mark  gave  way ;  but  it  ended  in  the  bishop  declar- 
ing that  he  had  no  special  predilection  for  his  own  carriage, 
which  he  did  in  compliance  with  a  glance  from  his  wife's 
eye.  Then  other  changes  of  course  followed,  and  at  last 
Mr.  Sowerby  and  Harold  Smith  were  the  joint  occupants 
of  the  phaeton. 

The  poor  lecturer,  as  he  seated  himself,  made  some  re- 
mark such  as  those  he  had  been  making  for  the  last  two 
days — for  out  of  a  full  lieart  the  mouth  speaTceth.     But  he 


FRAMLEY   PAESONAGE.  67 

fjpoke  to  an  impatient  listener.  "  D —  the  South  Sea  Isl- 
anders," said  Mr.  Sowerby.  "  You'll  have  it  all  your  own 
way  in  a  few  minutes,  like  a  bull  in  a  china-shop ;  but,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  let  us  have  a  little  peace  till  that  time 
comes."  It  appeared  that  Mr.  Sowerby's  little  plan  of 
having  Miss  Dunstable  for  his  companion  was  not  quite  in- 
significant ;  and,  indeed,  it  may  be  said  that  but  few  of  his 
little  plans  were  so.  At  the  present  moment  he  flung  him- 
self back  in  the  carriage  and  prepared  for  sleep.  He  could 
further  no  plan  of  his  by  a  tete-a-tete  conversation  with  his 
brother-in-law. 

And  then  Mrs.  Proudie  began  her  story  about  Mr.  Slope, 
or  rather  recommenced  it.  She  was  very  fond  of  talking 
about  this  gentleman,  who  had  once  been  her  pet  chaplain, 
but  was  now  her  bitterest  foe ;  and  in  telling  the  story, 
she  had  sometimes  to  whisper  to  Miss  Dunstable,  for  there 
were  one  or  two  fie-fie  little  anecdotes  about  a  married 
lady  not  altogether  fit  for  young  Mr.  Robarts's  ears.  But 
Mrs.  Harold  Smith  insisted  on  having  them  out  loud,  and 
Miss  Dunstable  would  gratify  that  lady  in  spite  of  Mrs. 
Proudie's  winks. 

"  What,  kissing  h'er  hand,  and  he  a  clergyman !"  said 
Miss  Dunstable.  "I  did  not  think  they  ever  did  such 
things,  Mr.  Robarts." 

"Still  waters  run  deepest,"  said  Mrs.  Harold  Smith. 

"  Hush-h-h !"  looked,  rather  than  spoke,  Mrs.  Proudie. 
"  The  grief  of  spirit  which  that  bad  man  caused  me  nearly 
broke  my  heart,  and  all  the  while,  you  know,  he  was  court- 
ing— "  and  then  Mrs.  Proudie  whispered  a  name. 

"  What,  the  dean's  wife !"  shouted  Miss  Dunstable,  in  a 
voice  which  made  the  coachman  of  the  next  carriage  give 
a  chuck  to  his  horses  as  he  overheard  her. 

"The  archdeacon's  sister-in-law!"  screamed  Mrs.  Har- 
old Smith. 

"  What  might  he  not  have  attempted  next  ?"  said  Miss 
Dunstable. 

"  She  wasn't  the  dean's  wife  then,  you  know,"  said  Mrs. 
Proudie,  explaining. 

"  Well,  you've  a  gay  set  in  the  chapter,  I  must  say," 
said  Miss  Dunstable.  "  You  ought  to  make  one  of  them 
in  Barchester,  Mr.  Robarts."        ^ 

"Only  perhaps  Mrs.  Robarts  might  not  like  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Harold  Smith. 


68  '  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

"  And  then  the  schemes  which  he  tried  on  with  the  bish- 
op !"  said  Mrs.  Proudie. 

"  It's  all  fair  in  love  and  war,  you  know,"  said  Miss 
Dunstable. 

"  But  he  little  knew  whom  he  had  to  deal  with  when  he 
began  that,"  said  Mrs.  Proudie. 

"The  bishop  was  too  many  for  him,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Harold  Smith,  very  maliciously. 

"  If  the  bishop  Avas  not,  somebody  else  was ;  and  he  was 
obliged  to  leave  Barchester  in  utter  disgrace.  He  has 
since  married  the  wife  of  some  tallow-chandler." 

"  The  wife !"  said  Miss  Dunstable.     "  What  a  man !" 

"  Widow,  I  mean ;  but  it's  all  one  to  him." 

"The  gentleman  was  clearly  born  when  Venus  was  in 
the  ascendant,"  said  Mrs.  Smith.  "  You  clergymen  usual- 
ly are,  I  believe,  Mr.  Robarts."  So  that  Mrs.  Proudie's 
carriage  was  by  no  means  the  dullest  as  they  drove  into 
Barchester  that  day ;  and  by  degrees  our  friend  Mark  be- 
came accustomed  to  his  companions,  and  before  they  reach- 
ed the  palace  he  acknowledged  to  himself  that  Miss  Dun- 
stable was  very  good  fun. 

AVe  can  not  linger  over  the  bishop's  dinner,  though  it 
was  very  good  of  its  kind ;  and  as  Mr.  Sowerby  contrived 
to  sit  next  to  Miss  Dunstable,  thereby  overturning  a  little 
scheme  made  by  Mr.  Supplehouse,  he  again  shone  forth  in 
unclouded  good-humor.  But  Mr.  Harold  Smith  became 
impatient  immediately  on  the  withdrawal  of  the  cloth. 
The  lecture  was  to  begin  at  seven,  and  according  to  his 
watch  that  hour  had  already  come.  He  declared  that  Sow- 
erby and  Supplehouse  were  endeavoring  to  delay  matters 
in  order  that  the  Barchesterians  might  become  vexed  and 
impatient,  and  so  the  bishop  was  not  allowed  to  exercise 
his  hospitality  in  true  episcopal  fashion. 

"You  forget,  Sowerby,"  said  Supplehouse,  "that  the 
world  here  for  the  last  fortnight  has  been  looking  forward 
to  nothing  else." 

"  The  world  shall  be  gratified  at  once,"  said  Mrs.  Harold, 
obeying  a  little  nod  from  Mrs.  Proudie.  "  Come,  my  dear," 
and  she  took  hold  of  Miss  Dunstable's  arm,  "  don't  let  us 
keep  Barchester  waiting.  We  shall  be  ready  in  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  shall  we  not,  MrSj, Proudie  ?"  and  so  they  sailed  oft'. 

"  And  we  shall  have  tinie  for  one  glass  of  claret,"  said 
the  bishop. 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  .  69 

"There!  that's  seven  by  the  cathedral,"  said  Harold 
Smith,  jumping  up  from  his  chair  as  he  heard  the  clock. 
"  If  the  people  have  come,  it  would  not  be  right  in  me  to 
keep  them  waiting,  and  I  shall  go." 

"  Just  one  glass  of  claret,  Mr.  Smith,  and  we'll  be  off," 
said  the  bishop. 

"  Those  women  will  keep  me  an  hour,"  said  Harold,  fill- 
ing his  glass,  and  drinking  it  standing.  "  They  do  it  on 
purpose."  He  was  thinking  of  his  wife,  but  it  seemed  to 
the  bishop  as  though  his  guest  were  actually  speaking  of 
Mrs.  Proudie! 

It  was  rather  late  when  they  all  found  themselves  in  the 
big  room  of  the  Mechanics'  Institute ;  but  I  do  not  know 
whether  this,  on  the  whole,  did  them  any  harm.  Most  of 
Mr.  Smith's  hearers,  excepting  the  party  from  the  palace, 
were  Barchester  tradesmen,  with  their  wives  and  families, 
and  they  waited,  not  impatiently,  for  the  big  people.  And 
then  the  lecture  was  gratis — a  fact  which  is  always  borne 
in  mind  by  an  EngUshman  w^hen  he  comes  to  reckon  up 
and  calculate  the  way  in  which  he  is  treated.  When  ho 
pays  his  money,  then  he  takes  his  choice ;  he  may  be  im- 
patient or  not,  as  he  likes.  His  sense  of  justice  teaches 
liim  so  much,  and  in  accordance  with  that  sense  he  usually 
acts. 

So  the  people  on  the  benches  rose  graciously  when  the 
palace  party  entered  the  room.  Seats  for  them  had  been 
kept  in  the  front.  There  were  three  arm-chairs,  which 
were  filled,  after  some  little  hesitation,  by  the  bishop,  Mrs. 
Proudie,  and  Miss  Dunstable — Mrs.  Smith  positively  de- 
clining to  take  one  of  them,  though,  as  she  admitted,  her 
rank  as  Lady  Papua  of  the  islands  did  give  her  some  claim. 
And  this  remark,  as  it  was  made  quite  out  loud,  reached 
Mr.  Smith's  ears  as  he  stood  behind  a  little  table  on  a  small 
raised  dais,  holding  his  white  kid  gloves,  and  it  annoyed 
him  and  rather  put  him  out.  He  did  not  like  that  joke 
about  Lady  Papua. 

And  then  the  others  of  the  party  sat  upon  a  front  bench 
covered  with  red  cloth.  "  We  shall  find  this  very  hard 
and  very  narrow  about  the  second  hour,"  said  Mr.  Sower- 
by,  and  Mr.  Smith  on  his  dais  again  overheard  the  words, 
and  dashed  his  gloves  down  to  the  table.  He  felt  that  all 
the  room  would  hear  it. 

And  there  were  one  or  two  gentlemen  on  the  second 


70  FRAMLEY    PARSOXAGE. 

seat  who  shook  hands  with  some  of  our  party.  There  was 
Mr.  Thorne  of  Ullathorne,  a  good-natured  old  bachelor, 
whose  residence  was  near  enough  to  Barchester  to  allow 
of  his  coming  in  without  much  personal,  inconvenience ; 
and  next  to  him  was  Mr.  Harding,  an  old  clergyman  of 
the  chapter,  with  whom  Mrs.  Proudie  shook  hands  very 
graciously,  making  way  for  him  to  seat  himself  close  be- 
hind her,  if  he  would  so  please.  But  Mr.  Harding  did  not 
so  please.  Having  paid  his  respects  to  the  bishop,  he  re- 
turned quietly  to  the  side  of  his  old  friend  Mr.  Thorne, 
thereby  angering  Mrs.  Proudie,  as  might  easily  be  seen  by 
her  face.  And  Mr.  Chadwick  also  was  there,  the  episcopal 
man  of  business  for  the  diocese ;  but  he  also  adhered  to 
the  two  gentlemen  above  named. 

And  now  that  the  bishop  and  the  ladies  had  taken  their 
places,  Mr.  Harold  Smith  relifted  his  gloves  and  again  laid 
them  down,  hummed  three  times  distinctly,  and  then  be- 
gan: 

"  It  was,"  he  said,  "  the  most  peculiar  characteristic  of 
the  present  era  in  the  British  Islands  that  those  who  were 
high  placed  before  the  world  in  rank,  wealth,  and  educa- 
tion were  willing  to  come  forward  and  give  their  time 
and  knov/ledge  without  fee  or  reward,  for  the  advantage 
and  amelioration  of  those  who  did  not  stand  so  high  in  the 
social  scale."  And  then  he  paused  for  a  moment,  during 
which  Mrs.  Smith  remarked  to  Miss  Dunstable  that  that 
was  pretty  well  for  a  beginning ;  and  Miss  Dunstable  re- 
plied "  that  as  for  herself  she  felt  very  grateful  to  rank, 
wealth,  and  education."  Mr.  Sowerby  winked  to  Mr.  Sup- 
plehouse,  who  opened  his  eyes  very  wide  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  But  the  Barchesterians  took  it  all  in  good  part, 
and  gave  the  lecturer  the  applause  of  their  hands  and  feet. 

And  then,  well  pleased,  he  recommenced — "I  do  not 
make  these  remarks  with  reference  to  myself — " 

"  I  hope  he's  not  going  to  be  modest,"  said  Miss  Dun- 
stable. 

"  It  will  be  quite  new  if  he  is,"  replied  Mrs.  Smith. 

" — so  much  as  to  many  noble  and  talented  lords  and 
members  of  the  Lower  House,  who  have  lately,  from  time 
to  time,  devoted  themselves  to  this  good  work."  And  then 
he  went  through  a  long  list  of  peers  and  members  of  Par- 
liament, beginning,  of  course,  with  Lord  Boanerges,  and 
ending  with  Mi'.  Green  Walker,  a  young  gentleman  who 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  71 

had  lately  been  returned  by  his  uncle's  interest  for  the 
borough  of  Crew  Junction,  and  had  immediately  made  his 
entrance  into  public  life  by  giving  a  lecture  on  the  gram- 
marians of  the  Latin  language  as  exemplified  at  Eton 
school.  . 

"  On  the  present  occasion,"  Mr.  Smith  continued,  "  our 
object  is  to  learn  something  as  to  those  grand  and  magnif- 
icent islands  which  lie  far  away,  beyond  the  Indies,  in  the 
Southern  Ocean ;  the  lands  of  which  produce  rich  spices 
and  glorious  fruits,  and  whose  seas  are  imbedded  with 
pearls  and  corals,  Papua  and  the  Philippines,  Borneo  and 
the  Moluccas.  My  friends,  you  are  familiar  with  your 
maps,  and  you  know  the  track  which  the  equator  makes 
for  itself  through  those  distant  oceans."  And  then  many 
heads  were  turned  down,  and  there  was  a  rustle  of  leaves ; 
for  not  a  few  of  those  "  who  stood  not  so  high  in  tlie  social 
scale"  had  brought  their  maps  with  them,  and  refreshed 
their  memories  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  these  wondrous 
islands. 

And  then  Mr.  Smith  also,  with  a  map  in  his  hand,  and 
pointing  occasionally  to  another  large  map  which  hung 
against  the  wall,  went  into  the  geography  of  the  matter. 
"  We  might  have  found  that  out  from  our  atlases,  I  think, 
without  coming  all  the  way  to  Barchester,"  said  that  un- 
sympathiziiig  helpmate  Mrs.  Harold,  very  cruelly — most  il- 
logically  too,  for  there  be  so  many  things  which  we  could 
hnd  out  ourselves  by  search,  but  which  we  never  do  find 
out  unless  they  be  specially  told  us ;  and  why  should  not 
the  latitude  and  longitude  of  Labuan  be  one — or  rather 
two  of  these  things  ? 

And  then,  when  he  had  duly  marked  the  path  of  the  line 
through  Borneo,  Celebes,  and  Gilolo,  through  the  Macassar 
Strait  and  the  Molucca  Passage,  Mr.  Harold  Smith  rose  to 
a  higher  flight.  "  But  what,"  said  he,  "  avails  all  that  God 
can  give  to  man,  unless  man  will  open  his  hand  to  receive 
the  gift?  And  what  is  this  opening  of  the  hand  but  the 
process  of  civilization — yes,  my  friends,  the  process  of  civ- 
ilization ?  These  South  Sea  Islanders  have  all  that  a  kind 
Providence  can  bestow  on  them ;  but  that  all  is  as  nothing 
without  education.  That  education  and  that  civilization  it 
is  for  you  to  bestow  upon  them — yes,  my  friends,  for  you ; 
for  you,  citizens  of  Barchester  as  you  are."  And  then  he 
paused  again,  in  order  that  the  feet  and  hands  might  go  to 


72  FRAMLEY   TArvSONAGE. 

work.  The  feet  and  hands  did  go  to  work,  during  which 
Mr.  Smith  took  a  sUght  drink  of  water. 

He  was  now  quite  in  his  element,  and  had  got  into  the 
proper  way  of  punching  the  table  with  his  fists.  A  few 
words  dropping  from  Mr.  Sowerby  did  now  and  again  find 
their  way  to  his  ears,  but  the  sound  of  his  own  voice  had 
brought  with  it  the  accustomed  charm,  and  he  ran  on  from 
platitude  to  truism,  and  from  truism  back  to  platitude,  with 
an  eloquence  that  was  charming  to  himself. 

"Civilization,"  ho  exclaimed,  lifting  up  his  eyes  and 
hands  to  the  ceiling.     "  Oh,  civilization — " 

"There  will  not  be  a  chance  for  us  now  for  the  next 
hour  and  a  half,"  said  Mr.  Supplehouse,  groaning. 

Harold  Smith  cast  one  eye  down  at  him,  but  it  immedi- 
ately flew  back  to  the  ceiling. 

"Oh,  civilization!  thou  that  cnnoblest  mankind  and 
makest  him  equal  to  the  gods,  what  is  like  unto  thee?" 
Here  Mrs.  Proudie  showed  evident  signs  of  disapproba- 
tion,  which  no  doubt  would  have  been  shared  by  the 
bishop  had  not  that  worthy  prelate  been  asleep.  But  Mr. 
Smith  continued  unobservant,  or,  at  any  rate,  regardless. 

"What  is  like  unto  thee?  Thou  art  the  irrigating 
stream  w^hich  makest  fertile  the  barren  plain.  Till  thou 
comest,  all  is  dark  and  dreary ;  but  at  thy  advent  the  noon- 
tide sun  shines  out,  the  earth  gives  forth  her  increase,  the 
deep  bowels  of  the  rocks  render  up  their  tribute.  Forms 
which  were  dull  and  hideous  become  endowed  with  grace 
and  beauty,  and  vegetable  existence  rises  to  the  scale  of 
celestial  life.  Then,  too,  genius  appears  clad  in  a  panoply 
of  translucent  armor,  grasping  in  his  hand  the  whole  ter- 
restrial surface,  and  making  every  rood  of  earth  subservi- 
ent to  his  purposes — Genius,  the  child  of  civilization,  the 
mother  of  the  Arts !" 

The  last  little  bit,  taken  from  the  Pedigree  of  Progress, 
had  a  great  success,  and  all  Barchester  went  to  work  with 
its  hands  and  feet — all  Barchester  except  that  ill-natured 
aristocratic  front  row,  together  with  the  three  arm-chairs 
at  the  corner  of  it.  The  aristocratic  front  row  felt  itself  to 
be  too  intimate  with  civilization  to  care  much  about  it; 
and  the  three  arm-chairs,  or  r.ather  that  special  one  which 
contained  Mrs.  Proudie,  considered  that  there  was  a  cer- 
tain heathenness,  a  pagan  sentimentality  almost  amount- 
ing to  infidelity,  contained  in  the  lecturer's  remarks,  Anth 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  73 

which  she,  a  pillar  of  the  Church,  could  not  put  up,  seated 
as  she  Avas  now  in  public  conclave. 

"  It  is  to  civilization  that  we  must  look,"  continued  Mr. 
Harold  Smith,  descending  from  poetry  to  prose  as  a  lectur- 
er well  knows  how,  and  thereby  showing  the  value  of  both 
— "for  any  material  progress  in  these  islands;  and — " 

"  And  to  Christianity,"  shouted  Mrs.  Proudie,  to  the 
great  amazement  of  the  assembled  people  and  to  the  thor- 
ough wakening  of  the  bishoj),  who,  jumping  up  in  his  chair 
at  the  sound  of  the  well-known  voice,  exclaimed, "  Certain- 
ly, certainly." 

"Hear!  hear  I  hear!"  said  those  on  the  benches  who 
particularly  belonged  to  Mrs.  Proudie's  school  of  divinity 
in  the  city,  and  among  the  voices  was  distinctly  heard  that 
of  a  new  verger  in  whose  behalf  she  had  greatly  interested 
herself. 

"  Oh  yes,  Christianity  of  course,"  said  Harold  Smith, 
upon  whom  the  interruption  did  not  seem  to  operate  fa- 
vorably. 

"  Christianity  and  Sabbath-day  observance,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Proudie,  who,  now  that  she  had  obtained  the  ear  of 
the  public,  seemed  well  inclined  to  keep  it.  "  Let  us  never 
forget  that  these  islanders  can  never  prosper  unless  they 
keep  the  Sabbath  holy." 

Poor  Mr.  Smith,  having  been  so  rudely  dragged  from  his 
high  horse,  was  never  able  to  mount  it  again,  and  com- 
pleted the  lecture  in  a  manner  not  at  all  comfortable  to 
himself.  He  had  there,  on  the  table  before  him,  a  huge 
bundle  of  statistics  with  which  he  had  meant  to  convince 
the  reason  of  his  hearers  after  he  had  taken  full  possession 
of  their  feelings.  But  they  fell  very  dull  and  flat.  And  at 
the  moment  when  he  was  interrupted,  he  was  about  to  ex- 
plain that  that  material  progress  to  which  he  had  alluded 
could  not  be  attained  without  money,  and  that  it  be- 
hooved them,  the  people  ofBarchester  before  him,  to  come 
forward  with  their  purses  like  men  and  brothers.  He  did 
also  attempt  this ;  but,  from  the  moment  of  that  fatal  on- 
slaught from  the  arm-chair,  it  was  clear  to  him  and  to  ev- 
ery one  else  that  Mrs.  Proudie  was  now  the  hero  of  the 
hour.  His  time  had  gone  by,  and  the  people  ofBarchester 
did  not  care  a  straw  for  his  appeal. 

From  these  causes  the  lecture  was  over  full  twenty 
minutes  earlier  than  any  one  had  expected,  to  the  great 


74  FRAMLEY   TARSONAGE. 

delight  of  Messrs.  Sowerby  and  Supplehouse,  who,  on  that 
evening,  moved  and  carried  a  vote  of  thanks  to  Mrs.  Prou- 
die.  For  they  had  gay  doings  yet  before  they  went  to 
their  beds. 

"  Robarts,  here  one  moment,"  Mr.  Sowerby  said,  as  they 
were  standing  at  the  door  of  the  Mechanics'  Institute. 
"  Don't  you  go  oif  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bishoj).  We  are  go- 
ing to  have  a  little  supper  at  the  Dragon  of  Wantley,  and, 
after  what  we  have  gone  through,  upon  my  word  we  want 
it.     You  can  tell  one  of  the  palace  servants  to  let  you  in." 

Mark  considered  the  proposal  wistfully.  He  would  fain 
have  joined  the  supper-party  had  he  dared ;  but  he,  like 
many  others  of  his  cloth,  had  the  fear  of  Mrs.  Proudie  be- 
fore his  eyes. 

And  a  very  merry  sup*per  they  had  ;  but  poor  Mr.  Harold 
Smith  was  not  the  merriest  of  the  party. 


CHAPTER  VH. 

SUNDAY     MORNING. 


It  was  perhaps  quite  as  well,  on  the  whole,  for  Mark 
Robarts,  that  he  did  not  go  to  that  supper-party.  It  Avas 
eleven  o'clock  before  they  sat  down,  and  nearly  two. before 
the  gentlemen  were  in  bed.  It  must  be  remembered  that 
he  had  to  preach,  on  the  coming  Sunday  morning,  a  chari- 
ty sermon  on  behalf  of  a  mission  to  Mr.  Harold  Smith's 
islanders ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  it  was  a  task  for  which 
he  had  now  very  little  inclination. 

When  first  invited  to  do  this,  he  had  regarded  the  task 
seriously  enough,  as  he  always  did  regard  such  work,  and 
he  completed  his  sermon  for  the  occasion  before  he  left 
Framley ;  but,  since  that,  an  air  of  ridicule  had  been  thrown 
over  the  whole  affair,  in  which  he  had  joined  without  much 
thinking  of  his  own  sermon,  and  this  made  him  now  heart- 
ily wish  that  he  could  choose  a  discourse  upon  any  other 
subject. 

He  knew  well  that  the  very  points  on  which  he  had 
most  insisted  were  those  which  had  drawn  most  mirth 
from  Miss  Dunstable  and  Mrs.  Smith,  and  had  oftenest  pro- 
voked his  own  laughter ;  and  how  was  he  now  to  preach 
on  those  matters  in  a  fitting  mood,  knowing,  as  he  would 


I 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  75 

know,  that  those  two  ladies  would  be  looking  at  him, 
would  endeavor  to  catch  his  eye,  and  would  turn  him  into 
ridicule  as  they  had  already  turned  the  lecturer  ? 

In  this  he  did  injustice  to  one  of  the  ladies,  unconscious- 
ly. Miss  Dunstable,  with  all  her  aptitude  for  mirth,  and 
we  may  almost  fairly  say  for  frolic,  was  in  no  way  inclined 
to  ridicule  religion  or  any  thing  which  she  thought  to  ap- 
pertain to  it.  It  may  be  presumed  that  among  such  things 
she  did  not  include  Mrs.  Proudie,  as  she  was  willing  enough 
to  laugh  at  that  lady ;  but  Mark,  had  he  known  her  better, 
mighthave  been  sure  that  she  would  have  sat  out  his  ser- 
mon with  perfect  propriety. 

As  it  was,  however,  he  did  feel  considerable  uneasiness; 
and  in  the  morning  he  got  up  early,  with  the  view  of  see- 
ing what  might  be  done  in  the  way  of  emendation.  He 
cut  out  those  parts  which  referred  most  specially  to  the 
islands — he  rejected  altogether  those  names  over  which 
they  had  all  laughed  together  so  heartily — and  he  inserted 
a  string  of  general  remarks,  very  useful,  no  doubt,  which 
he  flattered  himself  would  rob  his  sermon  of  all  similari- 
ty to  Harold  Smith's  lecture.  He  had  j^erhaps  hoped, 
when  writing  it,  to  create  some  little  sensation ;  but  now 
he  would  be  quite  satisfied  if  it  passed  without  remark. 

But  his  troubles  for  that  Sunday  were  destined  to  be 
many.  It  had  been  arranged  that  the  party  at  the  hotel 
should  breakfast  at  eight,  and  start  at  half  past  eight  punc- 
tually, so  as  to  enable  them  to  reach  Chaldicotes  in  ample 
time  to  arrange  their  dresses  before  they  went  to  church. 
The  church  stood  in  the  grounds,  close  to  that  long,  formal 
avenue  of  lime-trees,  but  within  the  front  gates.  Their 
walk,  therefore,  after  reaching  Mr.  Sowerby's  house,  would 
not  be  long. 

Mrs.  Proudie,  who  was  herself  an  early  body,  would  not 
hear  of  her  guest — and  he  a  clergyman — going  out  to  the 
inn  for  his  breakfast  on  a  Sunday  morning.  As  regarded 
that  Sabbath-day  journey  to  Chaldicotes,  to  that  she  had 
given  her  assent,  no  doubt  with  much  uneasiness  of  mind ; 
but  let  them  have  as  little  desecration  as  possible.  It  was, 
therefore,  an  understood  thing  that  he  was  to  return  with 
his  friends ;  but  he  should  not  go  without  the  advantage 
of  family  prayers  and  family  breakfast.  And  so  Mrs.  Prou- 
die, on  retiring  to  rest,  gave  the  necessary  orders,  to  the 
great  annoyance  of  her  household. 


16  FEAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

To  the  great  annoyance,  at  least,  of  her  servants.  The 
bishop  himself  did  not  make  his  appearance  till  a  much 
later  hour.  He  in  all  things  now  supported  his  wife's 
rule ;  in  all  things  now,  I  say,  for  there  had  been  a  mo- 
ment when,  in  the  first  flush  and  pride  of  his  episcopacy, 
other  ideas  had  filled  his  mind.  Now,  however,  he  gave 
no  opposition  to  that  good  woman  with  whom  Providence 
had  blessed  him  ;  and,  in  return  for  such  conduct,  that 
good  woman  administered  in  all  things  to  his  little  person- 
al comforts.  With  what  surprise  did  the  bishop  now  look 
back  upon  that  unholy  war  which  he  had  once  been  tempt- 
ed to  waire  against  the  wife  of  his  bosom  ? 

Nor  did  any  of  the  Miss  Proudies  show  themselves  at 
that  early  hour.  They,  perhaps,  were  absent  on  a  dilBfer- 
ent  ground.  With  them  Mrs.  Proudie  had  not  been  so 
successful  as  with  the  bishop.  They  had  wills  of  their 
own,  Avhich  became  stronger  and  stronger  every  day.  Of 
the  three  with  whom  Mrs.  Proudie  was  blessed,  one  was 
already  in  a  position  to  exercise  that  will  in  a  legitimate 
way  over  a  very  excellent  young  clergyman  in  the  diocese, 
the  Rev.  Optimus  Grey ;  but  the  other  two,  having  as  yet 
no  such  opening  for  their  powers  of  command,  were  per- 
haps a  little  too  much  inclined  to  keep  themselves  in  prac- 
tice at  home. 

But  at  half  past  seven  punctually  Mrs.  Proudie  was  there, 
and  so  was  the  domestic  chaplain ;  so  was  Mr.  Robarts, 
and  so  were  the  household  servants — all  excepting  one  lazy 
recreant.  "Where  is  Thomas?"  said  she  of  the  Argus 
eyes,  standing  up  with  her  book  of  family  prayers  in  her 
hand.  "  So  please  you,  ma'am,  Tummas  be  bad  with  the 
toothache."  "Toothache!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Proudie ;  but 
her  eye  said  more  terrible  things  than  that.  "  Let  Thomas 
come  to  me  before  church."  And  then  they  proceeded  to 
prayers.  These  were  read  by  the  chaplain,  as  it  was  prop- 
er and  decent  that  they  should  be ;  but  I  can  not  but  think 
that  Mrs.  Proudie  a  little  exceeded  her  office  in  taking 
upon  herself  to  pronounce  the  blessing  when  the  prayers 
were  over.  She  did  it,  however,  in  a  clear,  sonorous  voice, 
and  perhaps  with  more  personal  dignity  than  was  within 
the  chaplain's  compass. 

Mrs.  Proudie  was  rather  stern  at  breakfast,  and  the  Vicar 
of  Framley  felt  an  unaccountable  desire  to  get  out  of  the 
house.     In  the  first  place,  she  was  not  dressed  with  her 


PBAMLEY   PAESONAGE.  77 

usual  punctilious  attention  to  the  proprieties  of  hor  high 
situation.  It  was  evident  that  there  was  to  be  a  farther 
toilet  before  she  sailed  up  the  middle  of  the  cathedral 
choir.  She  had  on  a  large  loose  cap,  with  no  other  strings 
than  those  which  were  wanted  for  tying  it  beneath  her 
chin — a  cap  with  which  the  household  and  the  chaplain 
were  well  acquainted,  but  which  seemed  ungracious  in  the 
eyes  of  Mr.  Kobarts  after  all  the  well-dressed  holiday  do- 
ings of  the  last  week.  She  wore  also  a  large,  loose,  dark- 
colored  wrapper,  which  came  well  up  round  her  neck,  and 
which  was  not  buoyed  out,  as  were  her  dresses  in  general, 
with  an  under  mechanism  of  petticoats.  It  clung  to  her 
closely,  and  added  to  the  inflexibility  of  her  general  appear- 
ance. And  then  she  had  incased  her  feet  in  large  carpet 
slippers,  which  no  doubt  were  comfortable,  but  which 
struck  her  visitor  as  being  strange  and  unsightly. 

"  Do  you  find  a  difficulty  in  getting  your  people  together 
for  early  morning  prayers?"  she  said,  as  she  commenced 
her  operations  with  the  tea-pot. 

"  I  can't  say  that  I  do,"  said  Mark.  "  But  then  vre  are 
seldom  so  early  as  this." 

"  Parish  clergymen  should  be  early,  I  think,"  said  she. 
"  It  sets  a  good  example  in  the  village." 

"I  am  thinking  of  having  morning  i>rayers  in  the 
church,"  said  Mr.  Robarts. 

"That's  nonsense,"  said  Mrs.  Proudie,  "and  usually 
means  worse  than  nonsense.  I  know  what  that  comes  to. 
If  you  have  three  services  on  Sunday  and  domestic  pray- 
ers at  home,  you  do  very  well."  And,  so  saying,  she  hand- 
ed him  his  cup. 

"  But  I  have  not  three  services  on  Sunday,  Mrs.  Prou- 
die." 

"Then  I  think  you  should  have.  Where  can  the  poor 
people  be  so  well  off  on  Sundays  as  in  church  ?  The  bish- 
op intends  to  express  a  very  strong  opinion  on  this  subject 
in  his  next  charge ;  and  then  I  am  sure  you  will  attend  to 
his  wishes." 

To  this  Mark  made  no  answer,  but  devoted  himself  to 
his  egg. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  not  a  very  large  establishment  at 
Framley  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Proudie. 

"  What,  at  the  parsonage  ?" 

"  Yes ;  you  live  at  the  parsonage,  don't  you  ?" 


78  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

"  Certainly — well,  not  very  large,  Mrs.  Proudie  ;  just 
enough  to  do  the  work,  make  things  comfortable,  and  look 
after  the  children." 

"  It  is  a  very  fine  living,"  said  she,  "  very  fine.  I  don't 
remember  that  we  liave  any  thing  so  good  ourselves,  ex- 
cept it  is  Plumstead,  the  archdeacon's  place.  He  has  man- 
aged to  butter  his  bread  pretty  well." 

"  His  father  was  Bishop  of  Barchester." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  know  all  about  him.  Only  for  that  he  would 
barely  have  risen  to  be  an  archdeacon,  I  suspect.  Let  me 
see — yours  is  £800,  is  it  not,  Mr.  liobarts  ?  And  you  such 
a  young  man  !  I  suppose  you  have  insured  your  life 
highly.'' 

"  Pretty  well,  Mrs.  Proudie." 

"  And  then,  too,  your  wife  had  some  little  fortune,  had 
she  not?  We  can  not  all  fall  on  our  feet  like  that — can 
we,  Mr.  White?"  and  Mrs.  Proudie,  in  her  playful  way, 
appealed  to  the  chaplain. 

Mrs.  Proudie  was  an  imperious  woman ;  but  then  so  also 
was  Lady  Lufton ;  and  it  may  therefore  be  said  that  Mr. 
Robarts  ought  to  have  been  accustomed  to  feminine  domi- 
nation ;  but  as  he  sat  there  munching  his  toast,  he  could 
not  but  make  a  comparison  between  the  two.  Lady  Luf- 
ton in  her  little  attempts  sometimes  angered  him ;  but  he 
certainly  thought,  comparing  the  lay  lady  and  the  clerical 
together,  that  the  rule  of  the  former  was  the  lighter  and 
the  pleasanter.  But  then  Lady  Lufton  had  given  him  a 
living  and  a  wife,  and  Mrs.  Proudie  had  given  him  nothing. 

Immediately  after  breakfast  Mr.  Robarts  escaped  to  the 
Dragon  of  Wantley,  partly  because  he  had  had  enough  of 
the  matutinal  Mrs.  Proudie,  and  partly  also  in  order  that 
he  might  hurry  his  friends  there.  He  was  already  becom- 
ing fidgety  about  the  time,  as  Harold  Smith  had  been  on 
the  preceding  evening,  and  he  did  not  give  Mrs.  Smith 
credit  for  much  punctuality.  When  he  arrived  at  the  inn 
he  asked  if  they  had  done  breakfast,  and  was  immediately 
told  that  not  one  of  them  was  yet  down.  It  was  already 
half  past  eight,  and  they  ought  to  be  now  mider  Avay  on 
the  road. 

He  immediately  went  to  Mr.  Sowerby's  room,  and  found 
that  gentleman  shaving  himself.  "  Don't  be  a  bit  uneasy," 
said  Mr.  Sowerby.  "You  and  Smith  shall  have  my  phae- 
ton, and  those  horses  will  take  you  there  in  an  hour.     Not, 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  79 

however^  but  what  we  shall  all  be  in  time.  We'll  send 
round  to  the  whole  party  and  ferret  them  out."  And  then 
Mr.  Sowerby,  having  evoked  manifold  aid  with  various 
peals  of  the  bell,  sent  messengers,  male  and  female,  flying 
to  all  the  different  rooms. 

"  I  think  I'll  hire  a  gig  and  go  over  at  once,"  said  Mark. 
"  It  would  not  do  for  me  to  be  late,  you  know." 

"  It  won't  do  for  any  of  us  to  be  late ;  and  it's  all  non- 
sense about  hiring  a  gig.  It  would  be  just  throwing  a  sov- 
ereign away,  and  we  should  pass  you  on  the  road.  Go 
down  and  see  that  the  tea  is  made,  and  all  that ;  and  make 
them  have  the  bill  ready ;  and,  Robarts,  you  may  pay  it 
too,  if  you  like  it.  But  I  believe  we  may  as  well  leave  that 
to  Baron  Borneo — eh  ?" 

And  then  Mark  did  go  down  and  make  the  tea,  and  he 
did  order  the  bill ;  and  then  he  walked  about  the  room, 
looking  at  his  watch,  and  nervously  waiting  for  the  foot- 
steps of  his  friends.  And  as  he  was  so  employed,  he  be- 
thought himself  whether  it.  was  fit  that  he  should  be  so  do- 
ing on  a  Sunday  morning ;  whether  it  was  good  that  he 
should  be  waiting  there,  in  painful  anxiety,  to  gallop  over 
a  dozen  miles  in  order  that  he  might  not  be  too  late  with 
his  sermon;  whether  his  own  snug  room  at  home,  with 
Fanny  opposite  to  him,  and  his  bairns  crawling  on  the  floor, 
with  his  own  preparations  for  his  own  quiet  service,  and 
the  warm  pressure  of  Lady  Lufton's  hand  when  that  serv- 
ice should  be  over,  was  not  better  than  all  this. 

He  could  not  afibrd  not  to  know  Harold  Smith,  and  Mr. 
Sowerby,  and  the  Buke  of  Omnium,  he  had  said  to  himself 
He  had  to  look  to  rise  in  the  world,  as  other  men  did.  But 
what  pleasure  had  come  to  him  as  yet  from  these  intima- 
cies ?  How  much  had  he  hitherto  done  toward  his  rising  ? 
To  speak  the  truth,  he  was  not  over  well  pleased  with  him- 
self as  he  made  Mrs.  Harold  Smith's  tea  and  ordered  Mr. 
Sowerby's  mutton-chops  on  that  Sunday  morning. 

At  a  little  after  nine  they  all  assembled ;  but  even  then 
he  could  not  make  the  ladies  understand  that  there  was 
any  cause  for  hurry ;  at  least  Mrs.  Smith,  who  was  the 
leader  of  the  party,  would  not  understand  it.  When  Mark 
again  talked  of  hiring  a  gig,  Miss  Dunstable  indeed  said 
that  she  would  join  him,  and  seemed  to  be  so  far  earnest  in 
the  matter  that  Mr.  Sowerby  hurried  through  his  second 
egg  in  order  to  prevent  such  a  catastrophe.     And  then 


80  FRAMLEY   PAESONAGE. 

Mark  absolutely  did  order  the  gig ;  whereupon  Mrs.  Smitli 
remarked  that  in  such  case  she  need  not  hurry  herself;  but 
the  waiter  brought  up  word  that  all  the  horses  of  the  hotel 
were  out,  excepting  one  pair,  neither  of  which  could  go  in 
single  harness.  Indeed,  half  of  their  stable  establishment 
was  already  secured  by  Mr,  Sowerby's  own  party. 

"  Then  let  me  have  the  pair,"  said  Mark,  almost  frantic 
with  delay. 

"  Nonsense,  Robarts,  we  are  ready  now.  He  won't  want 
them,  James.     Come,  Siipplehouse,  have  you  done  ?" 

"  Then  I  am  to  hurry  myself,  am  I  ?'*  said  Mrs.  Harold 
Smith.  "  What  changeable  creatures  you  men  are !  May 
I  be  allowed  half  a  cup  more  tea,  Mr.  Robarts  ?" 

Mark,  who  was  now  really  angry,  turned  away  to  the 
window.  There  was  no  charity  in  these  people,  he  said  to 
himself  They  knew  the  nature  of  his  distress,  and  yet  they 
only  laughed  at  him.  He  did  not,  perhaps,  reflect  that  he 
had  assisted  in  the  joke  against  Harold  Smitli  on  the  pre- 
vious evening. 

"  James,"  said  he,  turning  to  the  w^aiter,  "  let  me  have 
that  pair  of  horses  immediately,  if  you  please." 

"Yes,  sir — round  in  fifteen  minutes,  sir;  only  Ned,  sir, 
the  post-boy,  sir,  I  fear  he's  at  breakfast,  sir ;  but  we'll  have 
him  here  in  less  than  no  time,  sir !" 

But  before  Ned  and  the  pair  were  there,  Mrs.  Slnith  had 
absolutely  got  her  bonnet  on,  and  at  ten  they  started. 
Mark  did  share  the  phaeton  with  Harold  Smith,  but  the 
phaeton  did  not  go  any  fjister  than  the  other  carriages. 
They  led  the  way,  indeed,  but  that  was  all ;  and  when  the 
vicar's  watch  told  him  that  it  was  eleven,  they  were  still  a 
mile  from  Chaldicotes'  gate,  although  the  horses  were  in  a 
lather  of  steam ;  and  they  had  only  just  entered  the  village 
when  the  church  bells  ceased  to  be  heard. 

"  Come,  you  are  in  time,  after  all,"  said  Harold  Smith. 
"Better  time  than  I  was  last  night."  Robarts  could  not 
explain  to  him  that  the  entry  of  a  clergyman  into  church 
— of  a  clergyman  who  is  going  to  assist  in  the  service, 
should  not  be  made  at  the  last  minute — that  it  should  be 
staid  and  decorous,  and  not  done  in  scrambling  haste,  with 
running  feet  and  scant  breath. 

"I  suppose  we'll  stop  here,  sir,"  said  the  postillion,  as 
he  pulled  up  his  horses  short  at  the  church  door,  in  the 
midst  of  the  people  who  were  congregated  together  ready 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  81 

for  the  service.  But  Mark  had  not  anticipated  being  so 
late,  and  said  at  first  that  it  was  necessary  that  he  should 
go  on  to  the  house ;  then,  when  the  horses  had  again  be- 
gun to  move,  he  remembered  that  he  could  send  for  his 
gown,  and  as  he  got  out  of  the  carriage  he  gave  his  or- 
ders accordingly.  And  now  the  other  two  carriages  were 
there,  and  so  there  was  a  noise  and  confusion  at  the  door 
— very  unseemly,  as  Mark  felt  it ;  and  the  gentlemen  spoke 
in  loud  voices,  and  Mrs.  Harold  Smith  declared  that  she 
had  no  prayer-book,  and  was  much  too  tired  to  go  in  at 
present;  she  would  go  home  and  rest  herself,  she  said. 
And  two  other  ladies  of  the  party  did  so  also,  leaving  Miss 
Dunstable  to  go  alone;  for  which,  however,  she  did  not 
care  one  button.  And  then  one  of  the  party,  who  had  a 
nasty  habit  of  swearing,  cursed  at  something  as  he  walked 
in  close  to  Mark's  elbow ;  and  so  they  made  their  way  up 
the  church  as  the  absolution  was  being  read,  and  Mark 
Robarts  felt  thoroughly  ashamed  of  himself.  If  his  rising 
in  the  world  brought  him  in  contact  with  such  things  as 
these,  would  it  not  be  better  for  him  that  lie  should  do 
without  rising  ? 

His  sermon  went  oif  without  any  special  notice.  Mrs. 
Harold  Smith  was  not  there,  much  to  his  satisfaction ;  and 
the  others  who  were  did  not  seem  to  pay  any  special  at- 
tention to  it.  The  subject  had  lost  its  novelty,  except  with 
the  ordinary  church  congregation,  the  farmers  and  labor- 
ers of  the  parish ;  and  the  "  quality"  in  the  squire's  great 
pew  were  content  to  show  their  sympathy  by  a  moder- 
ate subscription.  Miss  Dunstable,  however,  gave  a  ten- 
pound  note,  which  swelled  up  the  sum  total  to  a  respecta- 
ble amount — for  such  a  place  as  Chaldicotes. 

"  And  now  I  hope  I  may  never  hear  another  word  about 
Xew  Guinea,"  said  Mv.  Sowerby,  as  they  all   clustered 
round  the  drawing-room  fire  after  churcli.     "That  subject, 
may  be  regarded  as  having  been  killed  and  buried ;   eh, 
Harold  ?"  ^ 

"  Certainly  murdered  last  night,"  said  Mrs.  Harold,  "  by 
that  awful  woman,  Mrs.  Proudie." 

"  I  wonder  you  did  not  make  a  dash  at  her  and  pull  her 
out  of  the  arm-chair,"  said  Miss  Dunstable.  "  I  was  ex- 
pecting it,  and  thought  that  I  should  come  .to  grief  in  the 
scrimmage." 

"  I  never  knew  a  ladv  do  such  a  brazen-faced  thing  be- 
D2 


82  FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

fore,"  said  Miss  Kerrigy,  a  traveling  friend  of  Miss  Dun- 
stable's. 

"  Nor  I— never ;  in  a  public  place,  too ;"  said  Dr.  Easy- 
man,  a  medical  gentleman,  who  also  often  accompanied  her. 

"  As  for  brass,"  said  Mr.  Supplehouse,  "  she  would  never 
stop  at  any  thing  for  want  of  that.  It  is  well  that  she  has 
enough,  for  the  poor  bishop  is  but  badly  provided." 

"  I  hardly  heard  what  it  was  she  did  say,"  said  Harold 
Smith,  "  so  I  could  not  answer  her,  you  know.  Something 
about  Sundays,  I  believe." 

"She  hoped  you  would  not  put  the  South  Sea  Islanders 
up  to  Sabbath  traveling,"  said  Mr.  Sowerby. 

"  And  specially  begged  that  you  would  estabhsh  Lord's- 
day  schools,"  said  Mrs.  Smith ;  and  then  they  all  went  to 
work  and  picked  Mrs.  Proudie  to  pieces,  from  the  top  rib- 
bon of  her  cap  down  to  the  sole  of  her  shpper. 

"  And  then  she  expects  the  poor  parsons  to  fall  in  love 
with  her  daughters.  That's  the  hardest  thing  of  all,"  said 
Miss  Dunstable. 

But,  on  the  whole,  when  our  vicar  went  to  bed,  he  did 
not  feel  that  he  had  spent  a  profitable  Sunday. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

GATHEKUM     CASTLE. 


On  the  Tuesday  morning  Mark  did  receive  his  wife's 
letter  and  the  ten-pound  note,  whereby  a  strong  proof  was 
given  of  the  honesty  of  the  post-office  people  in  Barset- 
shire.  That  letter,  written  as  it  had  been  in  a  hurry,  while 
Robin  post-boy  was  drinking  a  single  mug  of  beer — well, 
what  of  it  if  it  was  half  filled  a  second  time  ? — was  nev- 
ertheless eloquent  of  his  wife's  love  and  of  her  great  tri- 
umph. 

"  I  have  only  half  a  moment  to  send  you  the  money," 
she  said,  "for  the  postman  is  here  waiting.  "When  I  see 
you  I'll  explain  why  I  am  so  hurried.  Let  me  know  that 
you  get  it  safe.  It  is  all  right  now,  and  Lady  Lufton  was 
here  not  a  minute  ago.  She  did  not  quite  like  it — about 
Gatherum  Castle  I  mean ;  but  you'll  hear  nothing  about  it. 
Only  remember  that  you  must  di?ie  at  Framley  Court  on 
Wednesday  week.     I  have  promised  for  yoii.     You  will ; 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  SS 

won't  yon,  dearest  ?  I  shall  come  and  fetch  you  away  if 
you  attempt  to  stay  longer  than  you  have  said.  But  I'm 
sure  you  won't.  God  bless  you,  my  own  one !  Mr.  Jones 
gave  us  the  same  sermon  he  preached  the  second  Sunday 
after  Easter.  Twice  in  the  same  year  is  too  often.  God 
bless  you !  The  children  are  quite  icell.  Mark  sends  a  big 
kiss. — Your  own  F." 

Robarts,  as  he  read  this  letter  and  crumpled  the  note 
up  into  his  jDOcket,  felt  that  it  was  much  more  satisfactory 
than  he  deserved.  He  knew  that  there  must  have  been  a 
fight,  and  that  his  wife,  fighting  loyally  on  his  behalf,  had 
got  the  best  of  it ;  and  he  knew  also  that  her  victory  had 
not  been  owing  to  the  goodness  of  her  cause.  He  fre- 
quently declared  to  himself  that  he  would  not  be  afraid  ol' 
Lady  Lufton ;  but,  nevertheless,  these  tidings  that  no  re- 
proaches were  to  be  made  to  him  afibrded  him  great  relief. 

On  the  following  Friday  they  all  went  to  the  duke's,  and 
found  that  the  bishop  and  Mrs.  Proudie  were  there  before 
them,  as  were  also  sundry  other  people,  mostly  of  some 
note,  either  in  the  estimation  of  the  world  at  large  or  of 
that  of  West  Barsetshire.  Lord  Boanerges  was  there,  an 
old  man  who  would  have  his  own  way  in  every  thing,  and 
who  was  regarded  by  all  men — apparently  even  by  the 
duke  himself — as  an  intellectual  king,  by  no  means  of  the 
constitutional  kind — as  an  intellectual  emperor  rather,  who 
took  upon  himself  to  rule  all  questions  of  mind  without  the 
assistance  of  any  ministers  whatever.  And  Baron  Brawl 
was  of  the  party,  one  of  her  majesty's  puisne  judges,  as 
jovial  a  guest  as  ever  entered  a  country  house,  but  given 
to  be  rather  sharp  withal  in  his  jovialities.  And  there  was 
Mr.  Green  Walker,  a  young  but  rising  man,  the  same  who 
lectured  not  long  since  on  a  popular  subject  to  his  con- 
stituents at  the  Crewe  Junction.  Mr.  Green  Walker  was 
a  nephew  of  the  Marchioness  of  Hartletop,  and  the  Mar- 
chioness of  Hartletop  was  a  friend  of  the  Duke  of  Omni- 
um's. Mr.  Mark  Kobarts  was  certainly  elated  when  ho 
ascertained  Avho  composed  the  company  of  which  he  had 
been  so  earnestly  pressed  to  make  a  portion.  Would  it 
have  been  wise  in  him  to  forego  this  on  account  of  the 
prejudices  of  Lady  Lufton? 

As  the  guests  were  so  many  and  so  great,  the  huge  front 
portals  of  Gatherum  Castle  were  thrown  open,  and  the  vast 
hall  adorned  with  trophies  —  with  marble  busts  from  Ita- 


84  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

ly  and  armor  from  Wardom*  Street — was  thronged  with 
gentlemen  and  ladies,  and  gave  forth  unwonted  echoes  to 
many  a  footstep.  His  grace  himself,  when  Mark  arrived 
there  with  Sowerby  and  Miss  Dunstable — for  in  this  in- 
stance Miss  Dunstable  did  travel  in  the  phaeton,  while 
Mark  occupied  a  seat  in  the  dicky — his  grace  himself  was 
at  this  moment  in  the  drawing-room,  and  nothing  could 
exceed  his  urbanity. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Dunstable,"  he  said,  taking  thai  lady  by  the 
hand,  and  leading  her  up  to  the  fire,  "  now  I  feel  for  the 
first  time  that  Gatherum  Castle  has  not  been  built  for  noth- 
ing.- 

"  Nobody  ever  supposed  it  was,  your  grace,"  said  Miss 
Dunstable.  "I  am  sure  the  architect  did  not  think  so 
when  his  bill  was  paid."  And  Miss  Dunstable  put  her 
toes  up  on  the  fender  to  Avarm  them  with  as  much  self- 
possession  as  though  her  father  had  been  a  duke  also,  in- 
stead of  a  quack  doctor. 

"  We  have  given  the  strictest  orders  about  the  parrot," 
said  the  duke — 

"  Ah !  but  I  have  not  brought  him,  after  all,"  said  Miss 
Dunstable. 

"  And  I  have  had  an  aviary  built  on  purpose— just  such 
as  parrots  are  used  to  in  their  own  country.  Well,  Miss 
Dunstable,  I  do  call  that  unkind.  Is  it  too  late  to  send  for 
him?" 

"  He  and  Dr.  Easyman  are  traveling  together.  The 
truth  was,  I  could  not  rob  the  doctor  of  his  companion." 

"  Why  ?  I  have  had  another  aviary  built  for  him.  I  de- 
clare, Miss  Dunstable,  the  honor  you  are  doing  me  is  shorn 
of  half  its  glory.  But  the  poodle — I  still  trust  in  the 
poodle." 

"And  your  grace's  trust  shall  not  in  that  respect  be 
in  vain.  Where  is  he,  I  wonder  ?"  And  Miss  Dunstable 
looked  round  as  though  she  expected  that  somebody  would 
certainly  have  brought  her  dog  in  after  her.  "I  declare  1 
must  go  and  look  for  him— only  think  if  they  were  to  put 
him  among  your  grace's  dogs — how  his  morals  would  be 
destroyed !" 

"  Miss  Dunstable,  is  that  intended  to  be  personal  ?"  But 
the  lady  had  turned  away  from  the  fire,  and  the  duke  was 
able  to  welcome  his  other  guests. 

This  he  did  with  much  courtesy.     "  Sowerby,"  he  said, 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  85 

*'  I  am  glad  to  find  that  you  have  survived  the  lecture.  I 
can  assure  you  I  had  fears  for  you." 

"  I  was  brought  back  to  life  after  considerable  delay  by 
the  administration  of  tonics  at  the  Dragon  of  Wantley. 
Will  your  grace  allow  me  to  present  to  you  Mr.  Robarts, 
who  on  that  occasion  was  not  so  fortunate.  It  was  found 
necessary  to  carry  him  off  to  the  palace,  where  he  was 
obliged  to  undergo  very  vigorous  treatment." 

And  then  the  duke  shook  hands  with  Mr.  Robarts,  as- 
suring him  that  he  was  most  happy  to  make  his  acquaint- 
ance. He  had  often  heard  of  him  since  he  came  into  the 
county ;  and  then  he  asked  after  Lord  Lufton,  regretting 
that  he  had  been  unable  to  induce  his  lordship  to  come  to 
Gatherum  Castle. 

"  But  you  had  a  diversion  at  the  lecture,  I  am  told," 
continued  the  duke.  "There  was  a  second  performer, 
was  there  not,  who  almost  eclipsed  poor  Harold  Smith  ?" 
And  then  Mr.  Sowerby  gave  an  amusing  sketch  of  the 
little  Proudie  episode. 

"  It  has,  of  course,  ruined  your  brother-in-law  forever  as 
a  lecturer,"  said  the  duke,  laughing. 

"  If  so,  we  shall  feel  ourselves  under  the  dee^^est  obliga- 
tions to  Mrs.  Proudie,"  said  Mr.  Sowerby.  And  then  Har- 
old Smith  himself  came  up,  and  received  the  duke's  sincere 
and  hearty  congratulations  on  the  success  of  his  enterprise 
at  Barchester. 

Mark  Robarts  had  now  turned  away,  and  his  attention 
was  suddenly  arrested  by  the  loud  voice  of  Miss  Dun- 
stable, who  had  stumbled  across  some  very  dear  friends  in 
her  passage  through  the  rooms,  and  who  by  no  means  hid 
from  the  public  her  delight  upon  the  occasion. 

"  Well — well — well!"  she  exclaimed,  and  then  she  seized 
upon  a  very  quiet-looking,  well-dressed,  attractive  young 
woman  who  was  walking  toward  her,  in  company  with  a 
gentleman.  The  gentleman  and  lady,  as  it  turned  out, 
were  husband  and  wife.  "Well — well — well!  I  hardly 
hoped  for  this."  And  then  she  took  hold  of  the  lady  and 
kissed  her  enthusiastically,  and  after  that  grasped  both  the 
gentleman's  hands,  shaking  them  stoutly. 

"  And  what  a  deal  I  shall  have  to  say  to  you !"  she  went 
on.  "  You'll  upset  all  my  other  plans.  But,  Mary,  my 
dear,  how  long  are  you  going  to  stay  here  ?  I  go — let  me 
see — I  forget  when,  but  it's  all  put  down  in  a  book  up 


86  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

stairs.  But  the  next  stage  is  at  Mrs.  Proudie's.  I  sba'n't 
meet  you  there,  I  suppose.  And  now,  Frank,  how's  the 
governor  ?" 

The  gentleman  called  Frank  declared  that  the  governor 
was  all  rights — "  mad  about  the  hounds,  of  course,  you 
know." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  that's  better  than  the  hounds  being 
mad  about  him,  like  the  poor  gentleman  they've  put  into 
a  statue.  But,  talking  of  hounds,  Frank,  how  badly  they 
manage  their  foxes  at  Chaldicotes !  I  was  out  hunting  all 
one  day — " 

"  You  out  hunting !"  said  the  lady  called  Mary. 

"And  why  shouldn't  I  go  out  hunting?  I'll  tell  you 
what,  Mrs.  Proudie  was  out  hunting  too.  But  they  didn't 
catch  a  single  fox ;  and,  if  you  must  have  the  truth,  it 
seemed  to  me  to  be  rather  slow." 

"  You  were  in  the  wrong  division  of  the  county,"  said 
the  gentleman  called  Frank. 

"  Of  course  I  was.  When  I  really  Avant  to  practice  hunt- 
ing I'll  go  to  Greshamsbury ;  not  a  doubt  about  that." 

"  Or  to  Boxall  Hill,"  said  the  lady ;  "  you'll  find  quite  as 
much  zeal  there  as  at  Greshamsbury." 

"And  more  discretion,  you  should  add,"  said  the  gen- 
tleman. 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  laughed  Miss  Dunstable;  "your  discre- 
tion indeed !  But  you  have  not  told  me  a  word  about 
Lady  Arabella." 

"My  mother  is  quite  well,"  said  the  gentleman. 

"And  the  doctor?  By-the-by,  my  dear,  I've  had  such 
a  letter  from,  the  doctor — only  two  days  ago.  I'll  show  it 
you  up  stairs  to-morrow.  But,  mind,  it  must  be  a  posi- 
tive secret.  If  he  goes  on  in  this  way  he'll  get  himself  into 
the  Tower,  or  Coventry,  or  a  blue-book,  or  some  dreadful 
place." 

"  Why,  what  has  he  said  ?" 

"  Never  you  mind.  Master  Frank ;  I  don't  mean  to  show 
you  the  letter,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.  But  if  your  wife 
will  swear  three  times  on  a  poker  and  tongs  that  she  won't 
reveal,  I'll  show  it  to  her.  And  so  you're  quite  settled  at 
Boxall  Hill,  are  you?" 

"  Frank's  horses  are  settled ;  and  the  dogs  nearly  so," 
said  Frank's  wife ;  "  but  I  can't  boast  much  of  any  thing 
else  yet." 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  87 

"  Well,  there's  a  good  time  coming.  I  must  go  and 
change  my  things  now.  But,  Mary,  mind  you  get  near 
me  this  evening ;  I  have  such  a  deal  to  say  to  you."  And 
then  Miss  Dunstable  marched  out  of  the  room. 

All  this  had  been  said  in  so  loud  a  voice  that  it  was,  as 
a  matter  of  course,  overheard  by  Mark  Robarts — that  part 
of  the  conversation,  of  course,  I  mean  which  had  come  from 
Miss  Dunstable.  And  then  Mark  learned  that  this  was 
young  Frank  Gresham,  of  Boxall  Hill,  son  of  old  Mr. 
Gresham  of  Greshamsbury.  Frank  had  lately  married  a 
great  heiress — a  greater  heiress,  men  said,  even  than  Miss 
Dunstable;  and  as  the  marriage  was  hardly  as  yet  more 
than  six  months  old,  the  Barsetshire  world  was  still  full 
of  it. 

"  The  two  heiresses  seem  to  be  very  loving,  don't  they  ?" 
said  Mr.  Supplehouse.  "  Birds  of  a  feather  flock  together, 
you  know.  But  they  did  say  some  little  time  ago  that 
young  Gresham  was  to  have  married  Miss  Dunstable  him- 
self"' 

"  Miss  Dunstable !  why,  she  might  almost  be  his  moth- 
er," said  Mark. 

"That  makes  but  little  difference.  He  was  obliged  to 
marry  money,  and  I  believe  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  did 
at  one  time  propose  to  Miss  Dunstable." 

"  I  have  had  a  letter  from  Lufton,"  Mr.  Sowerby  said  to 
him  the  next  morning.  "  He  declares  that  the  delay  w^as 
all  your  fault.  You  were  to  have  told  Lady  Lufton  before 
he  did  any  thing,  and  he  was  waiting  to  write  about  it  till 
he  heard  from  you.  It  seems  that  you  never  said  a  word 
to  her  ladyship  on  the  subject." 

"  I  never  did,  certainly.  My  commission  from  Lufton 
was  to  break  the  matter  to  her  when  I  found  her  in  a  prop- 
er humor  for  receiving  it.  If  you  knew  Lady  Lufton  as 
well  as  I  do,  you  would  know  that  it  is  not  every  day  that 
she  would  be  in  a  humor  for  such  tidings." 

"  And  so  I  was  to  be  kept  waiting  indefinitely  because 
you  two  between  you  were  afraid  of  an  old  woman !  How- 
ever, I  have  not  a  word  to  say  against  her,  and  the  matter 
is  settled  now." 

"Has  the  farm  been  sold?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  The  dowager  could  not  bring  her 
mind  to  suffer  such  profanation  for  the  Lufton  acres,  and 
so  she  sold  five  thousand  pounds  out  of  the  funds  and  sent 


88  FRAML'EY   PARSONAGE. 

the  money  to  Lufton  as  a  present — sent  it  to  him  without 
saying  a  word,  only  hoping  that  it  would  suffice  for  his 
Avants.     I  wish  I  had  a  mother,  I  know." 

Mark  found  it  impossible  at  the  moment  to  make  any 
remark  upon  what  had  been  told  him,  but  he  felt  a  sudden 
qualm  of  conscience  and  a  wish  that  he  was  at  Framley  in- 
stead of  at  Gatherum  Castle  at  the  present  moment.  He 
knew  a  good  deal  respecting  Lady  Lufton's  income  and  the 
manner  in  which  it  was  spent.  It  was  very  handsome  for 
a  single  lady,  but  then  she  lived  in  a  free  and  open-handed 
style ;  her  charities  were  noble ;  there  was  no  reason  wiiy 
she  should  save  money,  and  her  annual  income  was  usually 
spent  within  the  year.  Mark  knew  this,  and  he  knew  also 
that  nothing  short  of  an  impossibility  to  maintain  them 
would  induce  her  to  lessen  her  charities.  She  had  now 
given  away  a  portion  of  her  principal  to  save  the  property 
of  her  son — her  son,  who  was  so  much  more  opulent  than 
herself — upon  whose  means,  too,  the  world  made  fewer  ef- 
fectual claims. 

And  Mark  knew,  too,  something  of  the  purpose  for 
which  this  money  had  gone.  There  had  been  unsettled 
gambling  claims  between  Sowerby  and  Lord  Lufton,  orig- 
inating in  alFairs  of  the  turf.  It  had  now  been  going  on 
for  four  years,  almost  from  the  period  when  Lord  Lufton 
had  become  of  age.  He  had  before  now  spoken  to  Rob- 
arts  on  the  matter  with  much  bitter  anger,  alleging  that 
Mr.  Sowerby  was  treating  him  unfairly,  nay,  dishonestly; 
that  he  was  claiming  money  that  Avas  not  due  to  him ;  and 
then  he  declared  more  than  once  that  he  would  bring  the 
matter  before  the  Jockey  Club.  But  Mark,  knowing  that 
Lord  Lufton  was  not  clear-sighted  in  these  matters,  and 
believing  it  to  be  impossible  that  Mr.  Sowerby  should  act- 
ually endeavor  to  defraud  his  friend,  had  smoothed  down 
the  young  lord's  anger,  and  recommended  him  to  get  the 
case  referred  to  some  private  arbiter.  All  this  had  after- 
ward been  discussed  between  Robarts  and  Mr.  Sowerby 
himself,  and  hence  had  originated  their  intimacy.  The 
matter  was  so  referred,  Mr.  Sowerby  naming  the  referee ; 
and  Lord  Lufton,  when  the  matter  w^as  given  against  him, 
took  it  easily.  His  anger  was  over  by  that  time.  "  I've 
been  clean  done  among  them,"  he  said  to  Mark,  laughing; 
"but  it  does  not  signify;  a  man  must  pay  for  his  experi- 
ence.    Of  course,  Sowerby  thinks  it  all  right ;  I  am  bound 


FRAMLKY   PAilSONAGE.  8V 

to  suppose  so."  And  then  there  had  been  some  farther 
delay  as  .to  the  amount,  and  part  of  the  money  had  been 
paid  to  a  third  person,  and  a  bill  had  been  given,  and  heav- 
en and  the  Jews  only  know  how  much  money  Lord  Lufton 
had  paid  in  all ;  and  now  it  was  ended  by  his  handing  over 
to  some  wretched  villain  of  a  money-dealer,  on  behalf  of 
Mr.  Sowerby,  the  enormous  sum  of  live  thousand  pounds, 
which  had  been  deducted  from  the  means  of  his  mother. 
Lady  Lufton ! 

Mark,  as  he  thought  of  all  this,  could  not  but  feel  a  cer- 
tain animosity  against  Mr.  Sowerby — could  not  but  sus- 
pect that  he  was  a  bad  man.  Nay,  must  he  not  have 
known  that  he  was  very  bad?  And  yet  he  continued 
walking  Avith  him  through  the  duke's  grounds,  still  talking 
about  Lord  Lufton's  affairs,  and  still  listening  with  inter- 
est to  wiiat  Sowerby  told  Iiim  of  his  own. 

"  No  man  was  ever  robbed  as  I  have  been,"  said  he. 
"  But  I  shall  win  through  yet,  in  spite  of  them  all.  But 
those  Jews,  Mark" — he  had  become  very  intimate  wdth 
him  in  these  latter  days — "  whatever  you  do,  keep  clear 
of  them.  AVhy,  I  could  paper  a  room  with  their  signa- 
tures; and  yet  I  never  had  a  claim  upon  one  of  them, 
though  they  always  have  claims  on  me !" 

I  have  said  above  that  this  affair  of  Lord  Lufton's  was 
ended ;  but  it  now  appeared  to  Mark  that  it  was  not  quite 
ended.  "Tell  Lufton,  you  know,"  said  Sowerby,  "that 
every  bit  of  paper  w^ith  his  name  has  been  taken  up,  ex- 
cept what  that  ruffian  Tozer  has.  Tozer  may  have  one 
bill,  I  believe — something  that  w^as  not  given  up  when  it 
was  renewed.  But  I'll  make  my  lawyer  Guiliption  get 
that  up.  It  may  cost  ten  pounds  or  twenty  pounds,  not 
more.  You'll  remember  that  when  you  see  Lufton,  will 
you?" 

"  You'll  see  Lufton,  in  all  probability,  before  I  shall." 

"  Oh,  did  I  not  tell  you  ?  He's  going  to  Framley  Court 
at  once ;  you'll  find  him  there  when  you  return." 

"  Find  him  at  Framley !" 

"  Yes ;  this  little  cadeau  from  his  mother  has  touched 
his  filial  heart.  He  is  rushing  home  to  Framley  to  pay 
back  the  dowager's  hard  moidores  in  soft  caresses.  I  Avish 
I  had  a  mother,  I  know  that." 

And  Mark  still  felt  that  he  feared  Mr.  Sowerby,  but  he 
could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  break -away  from  him. 


90  FBAilLEY   PARSONAGE. 

And  there  was  much  talk  of  politics  just  then  at  the  cas- 
tle. Not  that  the  duke  joined  in  it  with  any  enthusiasm. 
He  was  a  Whig — a  huge  mountain  of  a  colossal  Whig — 
all  the  world  knew  that.  No  opponent  would  have  dream- 
ed of  tampering  with  his  Whiggery,  nor  would  any  broth- 
er Whig  have  dreamed  of  doubting  it.  But  he  was  a 
Whig  who  gave  very  little  practical  support  to  any  set  of 
men,  and  very  little  practical  opposition  to  any  other  set. 
He  was  above  troubling  himself  with  such  sublunar  mat- 
ters. At  election  time  he  supported,  and  always  carried. 
Whig  candidates;  and  in  return  he  had  been  appointed 
lord  lieutenant  of  the  county  by  one  Whig  minister,  and 
had  received  the  Garter  from  another.  But  these  things 
were  matters  of  course  to  a  Duke  of  Omnium.  He  was 
born  to  be  a  lord  lieutenant  and  a  knight  of  the  Garter. 

But  not  the  less  on  account  of  his  apathy,  or  rather  qui- 
escence, was  it  thought  that  Gatherum  Castle  was  a  fitting 
place  in  which  politicians  might  express  to  each  other  their 
present  hopes  and  future  aims,  and  concoct  together  little 
plots  in  a  half-serious  and  half-mocking  way.  Indeed,  it 
was  hinted  that  Mr.  Supplehouse  and  Harold  Smith,  with 
one  or  two  others,  were  at  Gatherum  for  this  express  pur- 
pose. Mr.  Fothergill,  too,  was  a  noted  politician,  and  was 
supposed  to  know  the  duke's  mind  well;  and  Mr.  Green 
Walker,  the  nephew  of  the  marchioness,  was  a  young  man 
whom  the  duke  desired  to  have  brought  forward.  Mr. 
Sowerby  also  was  the  duke's  own  member,  and  so  the  oc- 
casion suited  well  for  the  interchange  of  a  few  ideas. 

The  then  prime  minister,  angry  as  many  men  were  with 
him,  had  not  been  altogether  unsuccessful.  He  had  brought 
the  Russian  war  to  a  close,  which,  if  not  glorious,  was  at 
any  rate  much  more  so  than  Englishmen  at  one  time  had 
ventured  to  hope.  And  he  had  had  wonderful  luck  in  that 
Indian  mutiny.  It  is  true  that  many  of  those  even  who 
voted  with  him  would  declare  that  this  was  in  no  way  at- 
tributable to  him.  Great  men  had  risen  in  India  and  done 
all  that.  Even  his  minister  there,  the  governor  whom  he 
had  sent  out,  was  not  allowed  in  those  days  any  credit  for 
the  success  which  was  achieved  under  his  orders.  There 
was  great  reason  to  doubt  the  man  at  the  helm.  But, 
nevertheless,  he  had  been  lucky.  There  is  no  merit  in  a 
public  man  like  success ! 

But  now,  when  the  evil  days  were  well-nigh  over,  came 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  91 

the  question  whether  he  had  not  been  too  successful. 
When  a  man  has  nailed  fortune  to  his  chariot-wheels,  he 
is  apt  to  travel  about  in  rather  a  proud  fashion.  There 
are  servants  who  think  that  their  masters  can  not  do  with- 
out them ;  and  the  public  also  may  occasionally  have  some 
such  servant.  What  if  this  too  successful  minister  were 
one  of  them ! 

And  then  a  discreet,  commonplace,  zealous  member  of 
the  Lower  House  does  not  like  to  be  jeered  at  when  he 
does  his  duty  by  his  constituents  and  asks  a  few  questions. 
An  all-successful  minister  who  can  not  keep  his  triumph  to 
himself,  but  must  needs  drive  about  in  a  proud  fashion, 
laughing  at  commonplace  zealous  members — laughing  even 
occasionally  at  members  who  are  by  no  means  common- 
place, which  is  outrageous ! — may  it  not  be  as  well  to  os- 
tracize him  for  a  while  ? 

"Had  we  not  better  throw  in  our  shells  against  him?" 
says  Mr.  Harold  Smith. 

"Let  us  throw  in  our  shells,  by  all  means,"  says  Mr. 
Supplehouse,  mindful  as  Juno  of  his  despised  charms. 
And  when  Mr.  Supplehouse  declares  himself  an  enemy, 
men  know  how  much  it  means.  They  know  that  that 
much-belabored  head  of  affairs  must  succumb  to  the  terri- 
ble blows  which  are  now  in  store  for  him.  "  Yes,  we  will 
throw  in  our  shells."  And  Mr.  Supplehouse  rises  from  his 
chair  with  gleaming  eyes.  "  Has  not  Greece  as  noble  sons 
as  him?  ay,  and  much  jiobler,  traitor  that  he  is.  We  must 
judge  a  man  by  his  friends,"  says  Mr.  Supplehouse ;  and 
he  points  away  to  the  East,  where  our  dear  allies  the 
French  are  supposed  to  live,  and  where  our  head  of  affairs 
is  supposed  to  have  too  close  an  intimacy. 

They  all  understand  this,  even  Mr.  Green  Walker.  "  I 
don't  know  that  he  is  any  good  to  any  of  us  at  all,  now," 
says  the  talented  member  for  the  Crewe  Junction.  "  He's 
a  great  deal  too  uppish  to  suit  my  book ;  and  I  know  a 
great  many  people  that  think  so  too.     There's  my  uncle — " 

"  He's  the  best  fellow  in  the  world,"  said  Mr.  Fothergill, 
who  felt,  perhaps,  that  that  coming  revelation  about  Mr. 
Green  Walker's  uncle  might  not  be  of  use  to  them ;  "  but 
the  fact  is,  one  gets  tired  of  the  same  man  always.  One 
does  not  like  partridge  every  day.  As  for  me  I  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it  myself,  but  I  would  certainly  like 
to  change  the  dish." 


92  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

"  If  we're  merely  to  do  as  we  are  bid,  and  have  no  voice 
of  our  own,  I  don't  see  what's  the  good  of  going  to  the 
shop  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Sowerby. 

"  Not  the  least  use,"  said  Mr.  Supplehouse.  "  We  are 
false  to  our  constituents  in  submitting  to  such  a  domin- 
ion." 

"Let's  have  a  change,  then,"  said  Mr.  Sowerby.  "The 
matter's  pretty  much  in  our  own  hands." 

"Altogether,"  said  Mr.  Green  Walker.  "That's  what 
my  uncle  always  says." 

"The  Manchester  men  will  only  be  too  happy  for  the 
chance,"  said  Harold  Smith. 

"And  as  for  the  high  and  dry  gentlemen,"  said  Mr. 
Sowerby,  "  it's  not  very  likely  that  they  will  object  to  pick 
up  the  fruit  when  we  shake  the  tree." 

"  As  to  picking  up  the  fruit,  that's  as  may  be,"  said  Mr. 
Supplehouse.  Was  he  not  the  man  to  save  the  nation; 
and  if  so,  why  should  he  not  pick  up  the  fruit  himself? 
Had  not  the  greatest  power  in  the  country  pointed  him 
out  as  such,  a  savior  ?  What  though  the  country  at  the 
present  moment  needed  no  more  saving,  might  there  not 
nevertheless  be  a  good  time  coming?  Were  there  not 
rumors  of  other  wars  still  prevalent — if,  indeed,  the  actual 
war  then  going  on  was  being  brought  to  a  close  without 
his  assistance,  by  some  other  species  of  salvation  ?  He 
thought  of  that  country  to  which  he  had  pointed,  and  of 
that  friend  ot  his  enemies,  and  remembered  that  there 
might  be  still  work  for  a  mighty  savior.  The  public  mind 
w^as  now  awake,  and  understood  what  it  was  about. 
When  a  man  gets  into  his  head  an  idea  that  the  public 
voice  calls  for  him,  it  is  astonishing  how  great  becomes  his 
trust  in  the  wisdom  of  the  public.  Vox  populi  vox  Dei. 
"  Has  it  not  been  so  always  ?"  he  says  to  himself,  as  he 
gets  up  and  as  he  goes  to  bed.  And  then  Mr.  Supple- 
house felt  that  he  was  the  master-mind  there  at  Gather- 
um Castle,  and  that  those  there  were  all  puppets  in  his 
hand.  It  is  such  a  pleasant  thing  to  feel  that  one's 
friends  are  puppets,  and  that  the  strings  are  in  one's  own 
possession.  But  what  if  Mr.  Supplehouse  himself  were  a 
puppet  ? 

Some  months  afterward,  when  the  much-belabored  head 
of  affairs  was  in  very  truth  made  to  retire,  when  unkind 
shells  were  thrown  in  against  him  in  great  numbers,  when 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  93 

he  exclaimed,  "^i5  tii^  Brute  V  till  the  words  were  stere- 
otyped upon  his  lips,  all  men  in  all  places  talked  much 
about  the  great  Gatherum  Castle  confederation.  The 
Duke  of  Omnium,  the  world  said,  had  taken  into  his  high 
consideration  the  state  of  aflfairs,  and  seeing  with  his  ea- 
gle's eye  that  the  welfare  of  his  countrymen  at  large  re- 
quired that  some  great  step  should  be  initiated,  he  had 
at  once  summoned  to  his  mansion  many  members  of  the 
Lower  House,  and  some  also  of  the  House  of  Lords — men- 
tion was  here  especially  made  of  the  all-venerable  and  all- 
wise  Lord  Boanerges ;  and  men  went  on  to  say  that  there, 
in  deep  conclave,  he  had  made  known  to  them  his  views. 
It  was  thus  agreed  that  the  head  of  affairs.  Whig  as  he 
was,  must  fall.  The  country  required  it,  and  the  duke  did 
his  duty.  This  was  the  beginning,  the  world  said,  of  that 
celebrated  confederation  by  which  the  ministry  was  over- 
turned, and — as  the  Goody  Twoshoes  added — the  country 
Saved.  But  the  Jupiter  took  all  the  credit  to  itself;  and 
the  Jupiter  was  not  far  wrong.  All  the  credit  was  due  to 
the  Jupiter — in  that,  as  in  every  thing  else. 

In  the  mean  time  the  Duke  of  Omnium  entertained  his 
guests  in  the  quiet  princely  style,  but  did  not  condescend 
to  have  much  conversation  on  politics  either  with  Mr.  Sup- 
plehouse  or  with  Mr.  Harold  Smith.  And  as  for  Lord 
Boanerges,  he  spent  the  morning  on  which  the  above-de- 
scribed conversation  took  place  in  teaching  Miss  Dunsta- 
ble to  blow  soap-bubbles  on  scientific  principles. 

"  Dear,  dear !"  said  Miss  Dunstable,  as  sparks  of  knowl- 
edge came  flying  in  upon  her  mind,  "I  always  thought 
that  a  soap-bubble  was  a  soap-bubble,  and  I  never  asked 
the  reason  why.     One  doesn't,  you  know,  my  lord." 

"  Pardon  me.  Miss  Dunstable,"  said  the  old  lord,  "  one 
does ;  but  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  do  not." 

"And  the  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  have  the  best 
of  it,"  said  Miss  Dunstable.  "What  pleasure  can  one 
have  in  a  ghost  after  one  has  seen  the  phosphorus  rubbed 
on?" 

"  Quite  true,  my  dear  lady.  '  If  ignorance  be  bliss,  'tis 
folly  to  be  wise.'     It  all  lies  in  the  '  if.' " 

Then  Miss  Dunstable  began  to  sing ; 

"  'What  though  I  trace  each  herb  and  flower 
That  sips  the  mprning  dew — ' 

You  know  the  rest,  my  lord.'* 


94  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

Lord  Boanerges  did  know  almost  every  thing,  but  he 
did  not  know  that ;  and  so  Miss  Dunstable  went  on : 
' ' '  Did  I  not  own  Jehovah's  power, 
How  vain  were  all  I  knew.' " 

"  Exactly,  exactly.  Miss  Dunstable,"  said  his  lordship ; 
"  but  why  not  own  the  power  and  trace  the  flower  as  well  ? 
perhaps  one  might  help  the  other." 

Upon  the  whole,  I  am  afraid  that  Lord  Boanerges  got 
the  best  of  it.  But  then  that  is  his  line.  He  has  been  get- 
ting the  best  of  it  all  his  life. 

It  was  observed  by  all  that  the  duke  was  especially  at 
tentive  to  young  Mr.  Frank  Gresham,  the  gentleman  on 
whom  and  on  whose  wife  Miss  Dunstable  had  seized  so  ve- 
hemently. This  Mr.  Gresham  was  the  richest  commoner 
in  the  county,  and  it  was  rumored  that  at  the  next  elec- 
tion he  would  be  one  of  the  members  for  the  East  Riding. 
Now  the  duke  had  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  the  East 
Riding,  and  it  was  well  known  that  young  Gresham  would 
be  brought  forward  as  a  strong  conservative.  But,  never- 
theless, his  acres  were  so  extensive  and  his  money  so  plen- 
tiful that  he  was  worth  a  duke's  notice.  Mr.  Sowerby  also 
was  almost  more  than  civil  to  him,  as  was  natural,  seeing 
that  this  very  young  man,  by  a  mere  scratch  of  his  pen, 
could  turn  a  scrap  of  paper  into  a  bank-note  of  almost  fab- 
ulous value. 

"So  you  have  the  East  Barsetshire  hounds  at  Boxall 
Hill,  have  you  not  ?"  said  the  duke. 

"  The  hounds  are  there,"  said  Frank.  "  But  I  am  not 
the  master." 

"Oh!  I  understood— " 

"  My  father  has  them.  But  he  finds  Boxall  Hill  more 
centrical  than  Greshamsbury.  The  dogs  and  horses  have 
to  go  shorter  distances." 

"  Boxall  Hill  is  very  centrical." 

"  Oh,  exactly !" 

"  And  your  young  gorse  coverts  are  doing  Avell  ?" 

"  Pretty  well — gorse  won't  thrive  every  where,  I  find. 
I  wish  it  would." 

"That's  just  what  I  say  to  Fothergill;  and  then,  where 
there's  much  wood-land,  you  can't  get  the  vermin  to  leave 
it." 

"  But  we  haven't  a  tree  at  Boxall  Hill,"  said  Mrs.  Gre- 
sham. 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  9o 

"  Ah !  yes,  you're  new  there,  certainly ;  you've  enough 
of  it  at  Grevshanisbury,  in  all  conscience.  There's  a  larger 
extent  of  wood  there  than  we  have ;  isn't  there,  Fother- 

gill?" 

Mr.  Fothergill  -said  that  the  Greshamsbury  Avoods  were 
very  extensive,  but  that,  perhaps,  he  thought — 

"  Oh,  ah !  I  know,"  said  the  duke.  "  The  Black  Forest 
in  its  old  days  was  nothing  to  Gatherum  woods,  according 
to  Fothergill.  And  then  again,  nothing  in  East  Barset- 
shire  could  be  equal  to  any  thing  in  West  Barsetshire. 
Isn't  that  it ;  eh,  Fothergill  ?" 

Mr.  Fothergill  professed  that  he  had  been  brought  up  in 
that  faith  and  intended  to  die  in  it. 

"Your  exotics  at  Boxall  Hill  are  very  fine — magnifi- 
cent !"  said  Mr.  Sowerby. 

"  I'd  sooner  have  one  full-grown  oak  standing  in  its 
pride  alone,"  said  young  Greshani,  rather  grandiloquently, 
"  than  all  the  exotics  in  the  world." 

"  They'll  come  in  due  time,"  said  the  duke. 

"  But  the  due  time  won't  be  in  my  days.  And  so  they're 
going  to  cut  down  Chaldicotes  forest,  are  they,  Mr.  Sow- 
erby?" 

"  Well,  I  can't  tell  you  that.  They  are  going  to  disfor- 
est it.  I  have  been  ranger  since  I  was  twenty-two,  and  I 
don't  yet  know  whether  that  means  cutting  down." 

"  Not  only  cutting  down,  but  rooting  up,"  said  Mr.  Foth- 
ergill. 

"  It's  a  murderous  shame,"  said  Frank  Gresham ;  "  and 
I  will  say  one  thing,  I  don't  think  any  but  a  Whig  govern- 
ment would  do  it." 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !"  laughed  his  grace.  "  At  any  rate,  I'm 
sure  of  this,"  he  said,  "  that  if  a  conservative  government 
did  do  so,  the  Whigs  would  be  just  as  indignant  as  you 
are  now." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  you  ought  to  do,  Mr.  Gresham,"  said 
Sowerby — "  put  in  an  offer  for  the  whole  of  the  West  Bar- 
setshire crown  property ;  they  would  be  very  glad  to  sell 
it." 

"And  we  should  be  deliglited  to  welcome  you  on  this 
side  of  the  border,"  said  the  duke. 

Young  Gresham  did  feel  rather  flattered.  There  were 
not  many  men  in  the  county  to  whom  such  an  offer  could 
be  made  without  an   absurdity.     It  might  be  doubted 


96  FEAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

whether  the  duke  himself  could  purchase  the  Chase  of 
Chaldicotes  with  ready  money;  but  that  he,  Gresham, 
could  do  so — he  and  his  wife  between  them — no  man  did 
doubt.  And  then  Mr.  Gresham  thought  of  a  former  day 
when  he  had  "once  been  at  Gatherum  Castle.  He  had  been 
poor  enough  then,  and  the  duke  had  not  treated  him  in 
the  most  courteous  manner  in  the  world.  How  hard  it  is 
for  a  rich  man  not  to  lean  upon  his  riches !  harder,  indeed, 
than  for  a  camel  to  go  through  the  eye  of  a  needle. 

All  Barsetshire  knew — at  any  rate,  all  West  Barsetshire 
— that  Miss  Dunstable  had  been  brought  down  in  those 
parts  in  order  that  Mr.  Sowerby  might  marry  her.  It 
was  not  surmised  that  Miss  Dunstable  herself  had  had  any 
previous  notice  of  this  arrangement,  but  it  was  supposed 
that  the  thing  would  turn  out  as  a  matter  of  course.  Mr. 
Sowerby  had  no  money,  but  then  he  was  witty,  clever, 
good-looking,  and  a  member  of  Parliament.  He  lived  be- 
fore the  world,  represented  an  old  family,  and  had  an  old 
place.  How  could  Miss  Dunstable  possibly  do  better  ? 
She  was  not  so  young  now,  and  it  was  time  that  she 
should  look  about  her. 

The  suggestion  as  regarded  Mr.  Sowerby  w^as  certainly 
true,  and  was  not  the  less  so  as  regarded  some  of  Mr.  Sow- 
erby's  friends.  His  sister,  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  had  devote  d 
herself  to  the  work,  and  with  this  view  had  run  up  a  dear 
friendship  with  Miss  Dunstable.  The  bishop  had  intima- 
ted, nodding  his  head  knowingly,  that  it  would  be  a  very 
good  thing.  Mrs.  Proudie  had  given  in  her  adherence. 
Mr.  Supplehouse  had  been  made  to  understand  that  it 
must  be  a  case  of  "  Paws  oif "  wdth  him  as  long  as  lie  re- 
mained in  that  part  of  the  world;  and  even  the  duke  him- 
self had  desired  Fothergill  to  manage  it. 

"  He  owes  me  an  enormous  sum  of  money,"  said  the 
duke,  who  held  all  Mr.  Sowerby's  title-deeds,  "and  I 
doubt  whether  the  security  will  be  sufficient." 

"  Your  grace  will  find  the  security  quite  sufficient,"  said 
Mr.  Fothergill;  "but,  nevertheless,  it  would  be  a  good 
match." 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  duke.  And  then  it  became  Mr. 
Fothergill's  duty  to  see  that  Mr.  Sowerby  and  Miss  Dun- 
stable became  man  and  wife  as  speedily  as  possible. 

Some  of  the  party,  who  were  more  wide  awake  than 
others,  declared  that  he  had  made  the  offer;  others,  that 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  07 

he  was  just  going  to  do  so ;  and  one  very  knowing  lady 
went  so  far  at  one  time  as  to  say  that  he  was  making  it  at 
that  moment.  Bets  also  were  laid  as  to  the  lady's  answer, 
as  to  the  terms  of  the  settlement,  and  as  to  the  period  of 
the  marriage,  of  all  which  poor  Miss  Dunstable,  of  course, 
knew  nothing. 

Mr.  Sowerby,  in  spite  of  the  publicity  of  his  proceed- 
ings, proceeded  in  the  matter  very  well.  He  said  little 
about  it  to  those  who  joked  with  him,  but  carried  on  the 
light  with  what  best  knowledge  he  had  in  such  matters. 
But  so  much  it  is  given  to  us  to  declare  with  certainty, 
that  he  had  not  proposed  on  the  evening  previous  to  the 
morning  fixed  for  the  departure  of  Mark  Robarts. 

During  the  last  two  days  Mr.  Sowerby's  intimacy  with 
Mark  had  grown  warmer  and  warme^  He  had  talked 
to  the  vicar  confidentially  about  the  doings  of  these  big 
"wigs  now  present  at  the  castle,  as  though  there  were  no 
other  guest  there  with  whom  he  could  speak  in  so  free  a 
manner.  He  confided,  it  seemed,  much  more  in  Mark 
than  in  his  brother-in-law,  Harold  Smith,  or  in  any  of 
his  brother  members  of  Parliament,  and  had  altogether 
opened  his  heart  to  him  in  this  afiTair  of  his  anticipated 
marriage.  Now  Mr.  Sowerby  was  a  man  of  mark  in  the 
world,  and  ail  this  flattered  our  young  clergyman  not  a 
little. 

On  that  evening,  before  Robarts  went  away,  Sowerby 
asked  him  to  come  up  into  his  bedroom  when  the  whole 
party  was  breaking  up,  and  there  got  him  into  an  easy- 
chair,  Avhile  he,  Sowerby,  walked  up  and  down  the  room. 

"You  can  hardly  tell,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  he,  "the 
state  of  nervous  anxiety  in  which  this  puts  me." 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  her,  and  have  done  with  it  ?  She 
seems  to  me  to  be  fond  of  your  society." 

"Ah!  it  is  not  that  only;  there  are  wheels  within 
wheels ;"  and  then  he  walked  once  or  twice  up  and  down 
the  room,  during  which  Mark  thought  that  he  might  as 
well  go  to  bed. 

"  Not  that  I  mind  telling  you  every  thing,"  said  Sower- 
by. "I  am  infernally  hard  up  for  a  little  ready  money 
just  at  the  present  moment.  It  may  be,  and  indeed  I 
think  it  will  be,  the  case  that  I  shall  be  ruined  in  this  mat- 
ter for  the  want  of  it." 

"Could  not  Harold  Smith  give  it  you?'* 


98  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  you  don't  know  Harold  Smith.  Did 
you  ever  hear  of  his  lending  a  man  a  shilling  in  his  life  ?" 

"Or  Supplehouse?" 

"  Lord  love  you !  you  see  me  and  Supplehouse  together 
here,  and  he  comes  and  stays  at  my  house,  and  all  that, 
but  Supi^lehouse  and  I  are  no  friends.  Look  you  here, 
Mark !  I  would  do  more  for  your  little  finger  than  for  his 
whole  hand,  including  the  pen  which  he  holds  in  it.  Foth- 
ergill  indeed  might ;  but  then  I  know  Fothergill  is  pressed 
himself  at  the  present  moment.  It  is  deuced  hard,  isn't 
it?  I  must  give  up  the  whole  game  if  I  can't  put  my 
hand  upon  £400  within  the  next  two  days." 

"Ask  her  for  it  herself." 

"What,  the  woman  I  wish  to  marry!  No,  Mark,  I'm 
not  quite  come  to  that.  I  would  sooner  lose  her  than 
that." 

Mark  sat  silent,  gazing  at  the  tire  and  wishing  that  he 
was  in  his  own  bedroom.  He  had  an  idea  that  Mr.  Sow- 
erby  wished  him  to  produce  this  £400 ;  and  he  knew  also 
that  he  had  not  £400  in  the  world,  and  that  if  he  had  he 
would  be  acting  very  foolishly  to  give  it  to  Mr.  Sowerby. 
But,  nevertheless,  he  felt  half  fascinated  by  the  man,  and 
half  afraid  of  him. 

"  Lufton  owes  it  to  me  to  do  more  than  this,"  continued 
Mr.  Sowerby ;  "but  then  Lufton  is  not  here." 

"  Why,  he  has  just  paid  five  thousand  pounds  for  you." 

"Paid  five  thousand  pounds  for  me!  Indeed,  he  has 
done  no  such  thing;  not  a  sixpence  of  it  came  into  my 
hands.  Believe  me,  Mark,  you  don't  know  the  whole  of 
that  yet.  Not  that  I  mean  to  say  a  word  against  Lufton. 
He  is  the  soul  of  honor,  though  so  deucedly  dilatory  in 
money  matters.  He  thought  he  was  right  all  through  that 
affair,  but  no  man  was  ever  so  confoundedly  wrong. 
Why,  don't  you  remember  that  that  was  the  very  view 
you  took  of  it  yourself?" 

"  I  remember  saying  that  I  thought  he  was  mistaken." 

"  Of  course  he  was  mistaken.  And  dearly  the  mistake 
cost  me.  I  had  to  make  good  the  money  for  two  or  three 
years.     And  my  property  is  not  like  his.     I  wish  it  were." 

"Marry  Miss  Dunstable,  and  that  will  set  it  all  right  for 
you." 

"  Ah !  so  I  would  if  I  had  this  money.  At  any  rate,  I 
would  bring  it  to  the  point.     Now  I  tell  you  what,  Mark, 


FKAMLEY    TAKSONAGE.  99 

if  you'll  assist  mc  at  this  strait  I'll  never  forget  it ;  and  the 
time  will  come  round  when  I  may  be  able  to  do  something 
for  you." 

"  I  have  not  got  a  hundred,  no,  not  fifty  pounds  by  me 
in  the  world." 

"Of  course  you've  not.  Men  don't  walk  about  the 
streets  with  £400  in  their  pockets.  I  don't  suppose 
there's  a  single  man  here  in  the  house  with  such  a  sum  at 
his  bankers',  unless  it  be  the  duke." 

"  What  is  it  you  want,  then  ?" 

"Why,  your  name,  to  be  sure.  Believe  me,  my  dear 
fellow,  I  would  not  ask  you  really  to  put  your  hand  into 
your  pocket  to  such  a  tune  as  that.  Allow  me  to  draw  on 
you  for  that  amount  at  three  months.  Long  before  that 
time  I  shall  be  flush  enough."  And  then,  before  Mark 
could  answer,  he  had  a  bill  stamp  and  j^cn  and  ink  out  on 
the  table  before  him,  and  was  filling  in  the  bill  as  though 
his  friend  had  akeady  given  his  consent. 

"  Upon  my  word,  Sowerby,  I  had  rather  not  do  that." 

"Why!  what  are  you  afraid  of?"  Mr.  Sowerby  asked 
this  very  sharply.  "  Did  you  ever  hear  of  my  having  neg- 
lected to  take  up  a  bill  when  it  fell  due  ?"  Robarts  thought 
that  he  had  heard  of  such  a  thing ;  but  in  his  confusion  he 
was  not  exactly  sure,  and  so  he  said  nothing. 

"  No,  my  boy,  I  have  not  come  to  that.  Look  here : 
just  you  write,  'Accepted,  Mark  Robarts,'  across  that, 
and  then  you  shall  never  hear  of  the  transaction  again ; 
and  you  will  have  obliged  me  forever." 

"  As  a  clergyman,  it  would  be  wrong  of  me,"  said  Rob- 
arts. 

"  As  a  clergyman !  Come,  Mark !  If  you  don't  like  to 
do  as  much  as  that  for  a  friend,  say  so ;  but  don't  let  us 
have  that  sort  of  humbug.  If  there  be  one  class  of  men 
whose  names  would  be  found  more  frequent  on  the  backs 
of  bills  in  the  provincial  banks  than  another,  clergymen 
are  that  class.  Come,  old  fellow,  you  won't  throw  me 
over  when  I  am  so  hard  pushed." 

Mark  Robarts  took  the  pen  and  signed  the  bill.  It  was 
the  first  time  in  his  life  that  he  had  ever  done  such  an  act. 
Sowerby  then  shook  him  cordially  by  the  hand,  and  he 
walked  off  to  his  own  bedroom  a  wretched  man. 


100  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   vicar's   return. 


The  next  morning  Mr.  Robarts  took  leave  of  all  his 
grand  friends  with  a  heavy  heart.  He  had  lain  awake  half 
the  night  thinking  of  what  he  had  done,  and  trying  to  rec- 
oncile himself  to  his  position.  He  had  not  well  left  Mr. 
Sowerby's  room  before  he  felt  certain  that  at  the  end  of 
three  months  he  would  again  be  troubled  about  that  £400. 
As  he  went  along  the  passage  all  the  man's  known  anteced- 
ents crowded  upon  him  much  quicker  than  he  could  re- 
member them  when  seated  in  that  arm-chair  with  the  bill 
stamp  before  him,  and  the  pen  and  ink  ready  to  his  hand. 
He  remembered  what  Lord  Lufton  had  told  him — how  he 
had  complained  of  having  been  left  in  the  lurch ;  he  thought 
of  all  the  stories  current  through  the  entire  county  as  to 
the  impossibility  of  getting  money  from  Chaldicotes ;  he 
brought  to  mind  the  known  character  of  the  man,  and  then 
he  knew  that  he  must  prepare  himself  to  make  good  a  por- 
tion at  least  of  that  heavy  payment. 

Why  had  he  come  to  this  horrid  place  ?  Had  he  not 
every  thing  at  home  at  Framley  which  the  heart  of  man 
could  desire  ?  No ;  the  heart  of  man  can  desire  deaneries 
— the  heart,  that  is,  of  the  man  vicar ;  and  the  heart  of  the 
man  dean  can  desire  bishoprics ;  and  before  the  eyes  of  the 
man  bishop  does  there  not  loom  the  transcendental  glory 
of  Lambeth  ?  He  had  owned  to  himself  that  he  w^as  am- 
bitious, but  he  had  to  own  to  himself  now  also  that  he  had 
hitherto  taken  but  a  sorry  path  toward  the  object  of  his 
ambition. 

On  the  next  morning  at  breakfast-time,  before  his  horse 
and  gig  arrived  for  him,  no  one  was  so  bright  as  his  friend 
Sowerby.     "  So  you  are  off,  are  you  ?"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  I  shall  go  this  morning." 

*'  Say  every  thing  that's  kind  from  me  to  Lufton.  I  may 
possibly  see  him  out  hunting,  otherwise  we  sha'n't  meet 
till  the  spring.  As  to  my  going  to  Framley,  that's  out  of 
the  question.  Her  ladyship  would  look  for  my  tail,  and 
swear  that  she  smelt  brimstone.     By-by,  old  fellow !" 


PEAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  101 

The  German  student,  when  he  first  made  his  bargain 
with  the  devil,  felt  an  indescribable  attraction  to  his  new 
friend,  and  such  was  the  case  now  with  Robarts.  He 
shook  Sowerby's  hand  very  warmly,  said  that  he  hoped  he 
should  meet  him  soon  somewhere,  and  professed  himself 
specially  anxious  to  hear  how  that  affair  with  the  lady 
came  off.  As  he  had'made  his  bargain — as  he  had  under- 
taken to  pay  nearly  half  a  year's  income  for  his  dear  friend, 
ought  he  not  to  have  as  much  value  as  possible  for  his  mon- 
ey? If  the  dear  friendship  of  this  flash  member  of  Parlia- 
ment did  not  represent  that  value,  what  else  did  do  so? 
But  then  he  felt,  or  fancied  that  he  felt,  that  Mr.  Sowerby 
did  not  care  for  him  so  much  this  morning  as  he  had  done 
on  the  previous  evening.  "By-by,"  said  Mr.  Sowerby, 
but  he  spoke  no  word  as  to  such  future  meetings,  nor  did 
he  even  promise  to  write.  Mr.  Sowerby  probably  had 
many  things  on  his  mind,  and  it  might  be  that  it  behooved 
him,  having  finished  one  piece  of  business,  immediately  to 
look  to  another. 

The  sum  for  which  Robarts  had  made  himself  responsi- 
ble— which  he  so  much  feared  that  he  would  be  called  upon 
to  pay,  was  very  nearly  half  a  year's  income,  and  as  yet  he 
had  not  put  by  one  shilling  since  he  had  been  married. 
When  he  found  himself  settled  in  his  parsonage,  he  found 
also  that  all  the  world  regarded  him  as  a  rich  man.  He 
had  taken  the  dictum  of  all  the  world  as  true,  and  had  set 
himself  to  work  to  live  comfortably.  He  had  no  absolute 
need  of  a  curate,  but  he  could  afford  the  £70 — as  Lady 
Lufton  had  said  rather  injudiciously;  and  by  keeping 
Jones  in  the  parish  he  would  be  acting  charitably  to  a 
brother  clergyman,  and  would  also  place  himself  in  a  more 
independent  position.  Lady  Lufton  had  wished  to  see  her 
pet  clergyman  well-to-do  and  comfortable;  but  now,  as 
matters  had  turned  out,  she  much  regretted  this  affair  of 
the  curate.  Mr.  Jones,  she  said  to  herself,  more  than 
once,  must  be  made  to  depart  from  Framley. 

He  had  given  his  wife  a  pony-carriage,  and  for  himself  he 
had  a  saddle-horse,  and  a  second  horse  for  his  gig.  A  man 
in  his  position,  well-to-do  as  he  was, required  as  much  as  that. 
He  had  a  footman  also,  and  a  gardener,  and  a  groom.  The 
two  latter  were  absolutely  necessary,  but  about  the  former 
there  had  been  a  question.  His  wife  had  been  decidedly 
hostile  to  the  footman ;  but,  in  all  such  matters  as  that,  to 


102  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

doubt  is  to  be  lost.  When  the  footman  had  been  discuss- 
ed for  a  week,  it  became  quite  clear  to  the  master  that  he 
also  was  a  necessary. 

As  he  drove  home  that  morning  lie  pronounced  to  him- 
self the  doom  of  that  footman,  and  the  doom  also  of  that 
saddle-horse.  They,  at  any  rate,  should  go.  And  then  he 
would  spend  no  more  money  in  trips  to  Scotland ;  and, 
above  all,  he  would  keep  out  of  the  bedrooms  of  impover- 
ished members  of  Parliament  at  the  witching  hour  of  mid- 
night. Such  resolves  did  he  make  to  himself  as  he  drove 
home,  and  bethought  himself  wearily  how  that  £400  might 
be  made  to  be  forthcoming.  As  to  any  assistance  in  the 
matter  from  Sowerby,  of  that  he  gave  himself  no  promise. 

But  he  almost  felt  himself  happy  again  as  his  wife  came 
out  into  the  porch  to  meet  him,  with  a  silk  shawl  over  her 
head,  and  pretending  to  shiver  as  she  watched  him  de- 
scending from  his  gig. 

"My  dear  old  man,"  she  said,  as  she  led  him  into  the 
warm  drawing-room  with  all  his  wrappings  still  about 
him,  "you  must  be  starved."  But  Mark  during  the  whole 
drive  had  been  thinking  too  much  of  that  transaction  in 
Mr.  Sowerby's  bedroom  to  remember  that  the  air  was 
cold.  Now  he  had  his  arm  round  his  own  dear  Fanny's 
waist ;  but  was  he  to  tell  her  of  that  transaction  ?  At  any 
rate,  he  would  not  do  it  now,  while  his  two  boys  were  in 
his  arms,  rubbing  the  moisture  from  his  whiskers  with  their 
kisses.     After  all,  what  is  there  equal  to  that  coming  home  ? 

"And  so  Lufton  is  here.  I  say,  Frank,  gently  old  boy" 
— Frank  was  his  eldest  son — "you'll  have  baby  into  the 
fender." 

"  Let  me  take  baby ;  it's  impossible  to  hold  the  two  of 
them,  they  are  so  strong,"  said  the  proud  mother.  "  Oh 
yes,  he  came  home  early  yesterday." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  ?" 

"He  was  here  yesterday,  with  her  ladyship;  and  I 
lunched  there  to-day.  The  letter  came,  you  know,  in  time 
to  stop  the  Merediths.  They  don't  go  till  to-morrow,  so 
you  will  meet  them  after  all.  Sir  George  is  wild  about  it, 
but  Lady  Lufton  would  have  her  way.  You  never  saw 
her  in  such  a  state  as  she  is." 

"  Good  spirits,  eh  ?" 

"  I  should  think  so.  All  Lord  Lufton's  horses  are  com- 
ing, and  he's  to  be  here  till  March." 


FRAMLET   PABSONAGE.  103 

"Till  March!" 

"  So  her  ladyship  whispered  to  me.  She  could  not  con- 
ceal her  triumph  at  his  coming.  He's  going  to  give  up 
Leicestershire  this  year  altogether.  I  -svonder  what  has 
brought  it  all  about?"  Mark  knew  very  well  what  had 
brought  it  about;  he  had  been  made  acquainted,  as  the 
reader  has  also,  with  the  price  at  which  Lady  Luflon  had 
purchased  her  son's  visit.  But  no  one  had  told  Mrs.  Rob- 
arts  that  the  mother  had  made  her  son  a  present  of  five 
thousand  pounds. 

"  She's  in  a  good-humor  about  every  thing  now,"  con- 
tinued Fanny,  "  so  you  need  say  nothing  at  all  about  Gath- 
erum Castle." 

"  But  she  was  very  angry  when  she  first  lieard  it,  was 
she  not?" 

"  Well,  Mark,  to  tell  the  truth,  she  was ;  and  we  had 
quite  a  scene  there  up  in  her  own  room  up  stairs — Justinia 
and  I.  She  had  heard  something  else  that  she  did  not  like 
at  the  same  time ;  and  then — ^but  you  know  her  way.  She 
blazed  up  quite  hot." 

"  And  said  all  manner  of  horrid  things  about  me  ?" 

"About  the  duke  she  did.  You  know  she  never  did 
like  the  duke ;  and,  for  the  matter  of  fact,  neither  do  I.  I 
tell  you  that  fairly.  Master  Mark !" 

"  The  duke  is  not  so  bad  as  he's  painted." 

"Ah!  that's  what  you  say  about  another  great  person. 
However,  he  won't  come  here  to  trouble  us,  I  supj^ose. 
And  then  I  left  her,  not  in  the  best  temper  in  the  world ; 
for  I  blazed  up  too,  you  must  know." 

"  I  am  sure  you  did,"  said  Mark,  pressing  his  arm  round 
lier  waist. 

"And  then  we  were  going  to  have  a  dreadful  war,  I 
thought;  and  I  came  home  and  wrote  such  a  doleful  letter 
to  you.  But  what  should  happen,  when  I  had  just  closed 
it,  but  in  came  her  ladyship — all  alone,  and —  But  I  can't 
tell  you  what  she  did  or  said,  only  she  behaved  beautiful- 
ly ;  just  like  herself  too ;  so  full  of  love,  and  truth,  and  hon- 
esty. There's  nobody  like  her,  Mark ;  and  she's  better  than 
all  the  dukes  that  ever  wore — whatever  dukes  do  wear." 

"  Horns  and  hoofs ;  that's  their  usual  apparel,  according 
to  you  and  Lady  Lufton,"  said  he,  remembering  what  Mr. 
Sowerby  had  said  of  himself 

"  You  may  say  what  you  like  about  me,  Mark,  but  you 


104  FRAMLEY   PABSONAGE. 

sha'n't  abuse  Lady  Lufton.  And  if  horns  and  hoofs  mean 
wickedness  and  dissipation,  I  believe  it's  not  far  wrong. 
But  get  oiF  your  big  coat  and  make  yourself  comfortable." 
And  that  was  all  the  scolding  that  Mark  Robarts  got  from 
his  wife  on  the  occasion  of  his  great  iniquity. 

"  I  will  certainly  tell  her  about  this  bill  transaction,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "  but  not  to-day — not  till  after  I  have  seen 
Lufton." 

That  evening  they  dined  at  Framley  Court,  and  there 
they  met  the  young  lord;  they  found  also  Lady  Lufton 
still  in  high  good-humor.  Lord  Lufton  himself  was  a  fine, 
bright-looking  young  man,  not  so  tall  as  Mark  Robarts, 
and  with  perhajos  less  intelligence  marked  on  his  face ;  but 
his  features  were  finer,  and  there  was  in  his  countenance 
a  thorough  appearance  of  good-humor  and  sweet  temper. 
It  was,  indeed,  a  pleasant  face  to  look  upon,  and  dearly 
Lady  Lufton  loved  to  gaze  at  it. 

"  Well,  Mark,  so  you  have  been  among  the  Philistines  ?" 
that  was  his  lordship's  first  remark.  Robarts  laughed  as 
he  took  his  friend's  hands,  and  bethought  himself  how 
truly  that  was  the  case;  that  he  was,  in  very  truth,  already 
"himself  in  bonds  under  PhiHstian  yoke."  Alas!  alas!  it 
is  very  hard  to  break  asunder  the  bonds  of  the  latter-day 
Philistines.  When  a  Samson  does  now  and  then  pull  a 
temple  down  about  their  ears,  is  he  not  sure  to  be  ingulfed 
in  the  ruin  Avith  them  ?  There  is  no  horse-leech  that  sticks 
so  fast  as  your  latter-day  Philistine. 

"  So  you  have  caught  Sir  George,  after  all,"  said  Lady 
Lufton,  and  that  was  nearly  all  she  did  say  in  allusion 
to  his  absence.  There  was  afterward  some  conversation 
about  the  lecture,  and,  from  her  ladyship's  remarks,  it  cer- 
tainly was  apparent  that  she  did  not  like  the  people  among 
whom  the  vicar  had  been  lately  staying ;  but  she  said  no 
word  that  was  personal  to  him  himself,  or  that  could  be 
taken  as  a  reproach.  The  little  episode  of  Mrs.  Proudie's 
address  in  the  lecture-room  had  ah'cady  reached  Framley, 
and  it  was  only  to  be  expected  that  Lady  Lufton  should 
enjoy  the  joke.  She  Avould  affect  to  believe  that  the  body 
of  the  lecture  had  been  given  by  the  bishop's  wife ;  and 
afterward,  when  Mark  described  her  costume  at  that  Sun- 
day morning  breakfast-table.  Lady  Lufton  would  assume 
that  such  had  been  the  dress  in  wliich  she  had  exercised 
her  faculties  in  public. 


FEAMLEY   PAESONAGE.  105 

"  I  would  have  given  a  five-pound  note  to  have  heard  it," 
said  Sir  George. 

"  So  would  not  I,"  said  Lady  Lufton.  "  When  one  hears 
of  such  things  described  so  graphically  as  Mr.  Kobarts  now 
tells  it,  one  can  hardly  help  laughing.  But  it  would  give 
me  great  pain  to  see  the  wife  of  one  of  our  bishops  place 
herself  in  such  a  situation ;  for  he  is  a  bishop,  after  all." 

"  Well,  upon  my  word,  my  lady,  I  agree  with  Meredith," 
said  Lord  Lufton.  "It  must  have  been  good  fun.  As  it 
did  happen,  you  know— as  the  church  was  doomed  to  the 
disgrace,  I  should  like  to  have  heard  it." 

''I  know  you  would  have  been  shocked,  Ludovic." 

"  I  should  have  got  over  that  in  time,  mother.  It  would 
have  been  Hke  a  bull-fight,  I  suppose ;  horrible  to  see,  no 
doubt,  but  extremely  interesting.  And  Harold  Smith, 
Mark,  what  did  he  do  all  the  while?" 

"It  didn't  take  so  very  long,  you  know,"  said  Robarts. 

"  And  the  poor  bishop,"  said  Lady  Meredith,  "  how  did 
he  look  ?     I  really  do  pity  him." 

"  Well,  he  was  asleep,  I  think." 

"  What,  slept  through  it  all  ?"  said  Sir  George. 

"  It  awakened  him ;  and  then  he  jumped  up  and  said 
something." 

"What,  out  loud  too?" 

"  Only  one  word  or  so." 

"What  a  disgraceful  scene!"  said  Lady  Lufton.  "To 
those  who  remember  the  good  old  man  who  Avas  in  the 
diocese  before  him  it  is  perfectly  shocking.  He  confirmed 
you,  Ludovic,  and  you  ought  to  remember  him.  It  was 
over  at  Barchester,  and  you  went  and  lunched  with  him 
afterward." 

"  I  do  remember ;  and  especially  this,  that  I  never  ate 
suclr  tarts  in  my  life,  before  or  since.  The  old  man  par- 
ticularly called  my  attention  to  them,  and  seemed  remark- 
ably pleased  that  I  concurred  in  his  sentiments.  There 
are  no  such  tarts  as  those  going  in  the  palace  now,  I'll  be 
bound." 

"  Mrs.  Proudie  will  be  very  happy  to  do  her  best  for  you 
if  you  will  go  and  try,"  said  Sir  George. 

"  I  beg  that  he  will  do  no  such  thing,"  said  Lady  Lufton, 
and  that  was  the  only  severe  word  she  said  about  any  of 
Mark's  visitings. 

As  Sir  George  Meredith  was  there,  Robarts  could  sav 
E  2 


106  FBAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

nothing  then  to  Lord  Lufton  about  Mr.  Sowerby  and  Mr. 
Sowerby's  money  affairs ;  but  he  did  make  an  appointment 
for  a  tete-a-tete  on  the  next  morning. 

"  You  must  come  down  and  see  my  nags,  Mark ;  they 
came  to-day.  The  Merediths  will  be  off  at  twelve,  and 
then  we  can  have  an  hour  together."  Mark  said  he  would, 
and  then  went  home  with  his  wife  under  his  arm. 

"  Well,  now,  is  not  she  kind  ?"  said  Fanny,  as  soon  as 
they  were  out  on  the  gravel  together. 

"  She  is  kind ;  kinder  than  I  can  tell  you  just  at  present. 
But  did  you  ever  know  any  thing  so  bitter  as  she  is  to  the 
poor  bishop  ?     And  really  the  bishop  is  not  so  bad." 

"  Yes,  I  know  something  much  more  bitter,  and  that  is 
what  she  thinks  of  the  bishop's  wife.  And  you  know, 
Mark,  it  was  so  unladylike,  her  getting  up  in  that  way. 
What  must  the  people  of  Barchester  think  of  her  ?" 

"  As  far  as  I  could  see,  the  people  of  Barchester  liked  it." 

"  Nonsense,  Mark,  they  could  not.  But  never  mind  that 
now.  I  want  you  to  own  that  she  is  good."  And  then 
Mrs.  Robarts  went  on  with  another  long  eulogy  on  the 
dowager.  Since  that  affair  of  the  pardon-begging  at  the 
parsonage  Mrs.  Robarts  hardly  knew  how  to  think  well 
enough  of  her  friend.  And  the  evening  had  been  so  pleas- 
ant after  the  dreadful  storm  and  threatenings  of  hurricanes ; 
her  husband  had  been  so  well  received  after  his  lapse  of 
judgment ;  the  wounds  that  had  looked  so  sore  had  been 
so  thoroughly  healed,  and  every  thing  was  so  pleasant. 
How  all  of  this  would  have  been  changed  had  she  had 
known  of  that  little  bill ! 

At  twelve  the  next  morning  the  lord  and  the  vicar  were 
walking  through  the  Framley  stables  together.  Quite  a 
commotion  had  been  made  there,  for  the  larger  portion  of 
these  buildings  had  of  late  years  seldom  been  used.  But 
now  all  was  crowding  and  activity.  Seven  or  eight  very 
precious  animals  had  followed  Lord  Lufton  from  Leices- 
tershire, and  all  of  them  required  dimensions  that  were 
thought  to  be  rather  excessive  by  the  Framley  old-fash- 
ioned groom.  My  lord,  however,  had  a  head  man  of  his 
own  who  took  the  matter  quite  into  his  own  hands. 

Mark,  priest  as  he  was,  was  quite  worldly  enough  to  be 
fond  of  a  good  horse,  and  for  some  little  time  allowed 
Lord  Lufton  to  descant  on  the  merit  of  this  four-year-old 
filly,  and  that  magnificent  Rattlebones  colt,  out  of  a  Mouse- 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  107 

trap  mare ;  but  he  had  other  things  that  lay  heavy  on  his 
mind,  and  after  bestowing  half  an  hour  on  the  stud,  he 
contrived  to  get  his  friend  away  to  the  shrubbery  walks. 

"  So  you  have  settled  with  Sowerby,"  Robarts  began 
by  saying. 

"  Settled  with  him- — yes ;  but  do  you  know  the  price  ?" 

"  I  believe  that  you  have  paid  five  thousand  pounds." 

'•Yes,  and  about  three  before;  and  that  in  a  matter  in 
which  I  did  not  really  owe  one  shilling.  Whatever  I  do 
in  future,  I'll  keep  out  of  Sowerby's  grip." 

"  But  you  don't  think  he  has  been  unfair  to  you  ?" 

"  Mark,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have  banished  the  afiair 
from  my  mind,  and  don't  wish  to  take  it  up  again.  My 
mother  has  paid  the  money  to  save  the  property,  and  of 
course  I  must  pay  her  back.  But  I  think  I  may  promise 
that  I  will  not  have  any  more  money  dealings  with  Sow- 
erby. I  will  not  say  that  he  is  dishonest,  but,  at  any  rate, 
he  is  sharp." 

"  "Well,  Lufton,  what  will  you  say  when  I  tell  you  that 
I  have  put  my  name  to  a  bill  for  him  for  four  hundred 
pounds  ?" 

"  Say !  why  I  should  say — but  you're  joking ;  a  man  in 
your  position  Avould  never  do  such  a  thing." 

"  But  I  have  done  it." 

Lord  Lufton  gave  a  long  low  whistle. 

"  He  asked  me  the  last  night  that  I  was  there,  making  a 
great  favor  of  it,  and  declaring  that  no  bill  of  his  had  ever 
yet  been  dishonored." 

Lord  Lufton  whistled  again.  "No  bill  of  his  dishonor- 
ed !  Why,  the  pocket-books  of  the  Jews  are  stufied  full 
of  his  dishonored  papers.  And  you  have  really  given  him 
your  name  for  four  hundred  pounds  ?" 

"  I  have,  certainly." 

"At  what  date?'* 

"  Three  months." 

"  And  have  you  thought  where  you  are  to  get  the  mon- 
ey?" 

"  I  know  very  well  that  I  can't  get  it — not  at  least  by 
that  time.  The  bankers  must  renew  it  for  me,  and  I  must 
pay  it  by  degrees — that  is,  if  Sowerby  really  does  not  take 
it  up." 

"  It  is  just  as  likely  that  he  will  take  up  the  national 
debt."* 


108  FKAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

Robarts  then  told  him  about  the  projected  marriage 
with  Miss  Dunstable,  giving  it  as  his  opinion  that  the  lady- 
would  probably  accept  the  gentleman. 

"  Not  at  all  improbable,"  said  his  lordship,  "  for  Sowerby 
is  an  agreeable  fellow ;  and  if  it  be  so,  he  will  have  all  that 
lie  wants  for  life.  But  his  creditors  will  gain  nothing. 
The  duke,  who  has  his  title-deeds,  will  doubtless  get  his 
money,  and  the  estate  will  in  fact  belong  to  the  wife.  But 
the  small  fry,  such  as  you,  will  not  get  a  shilling." 

Poor  Mark !  He  had  had  an  inkling  of  this  before,  but 
it  had  hardly  presented  itself  to  him  in  such  certain  terms. 
It  was,  then,  a  positive  fact,  that  in  punishment  for  his 
weakness  in  having  signed  that  bill,  he  would  have  to  pay, 
not  only  four  hundred  pounds,  but  four  hundred  pounds 
with  interest,  and  expenses  of  renewal,  and  commission, 
and  bill  stamps.  Yes,  he  had  certainly  got  among  the 
Philistines  during  that  visit  of  his  to  the  duke.  It  began 
to  appear  to  him  pretty  clearly  that  it  would  have  been 
better  for  him  to  have  relinquished  altogether  the  glories 
of  Chaldicotes  and  Gatherum  Castle. 

And  now,  how  was  he  to  tell  his  wife  ? 


CHAPTER  X. 

LUCY    K  OB  ARTS. 


And  now,  how  was  he  to  tell  his  Avife?  That  was  the 
consideration  heavy  on  Mark  Robarts'  mind  when  last  we 
left  him,  and  he  turned  the  matter  often  in  his  thoughts 
before  he  could  bring  himself  to  a  resolution.  At  last  he 
did  do  so,  and  one  may  say  that  it  was  not  altogether  a 
bad  one,  if  only  he  could  carry  it  out. 

He  would  ascertain  in  what  bank  that  bill  of  his  had  been 
discounted.  He  would  ask  Sowerby,  and  if  he  could  not 
learn  from  him,  he  would  go  to  the  three  banks  in  Bar- 
chester.  That  it  had  been  taken  to  one  of  them  he  felt 
tolerably  certain.  He  would  explain  to  the  manager  his 
conviction  that  he  would  have  to  make  good  the  amount, 
his  inability  to  do  so  at  the  end  of  the  three  months,  and 
the  whole  state  of  his  income ;  and  then  the  banker  would 
explain  to  him  how  the  matter  might  be  arranged.  He 
thought  that  he  could  pay  £50  every  three  months  with 
interest.     As  soon  as  this  should  have  been  concerted  with 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  109 

the  banker,  he  would  let  his  wife  know  all  aboiit  it.  Were 
he  to  tell  her  at  the  present  moment,  while  the  matter  was 
all  unsettled,  the  intelligence  would  frighten  her  into  illness. 

But  on  the  next  morning  there  came  to  him  tidings  by 
the  hands  of  Robin  postman  which  for  a  long  while  upset 
all  his  plans.  The  letter  was  from  Exeter.  His  father 
had  been  taken  ill,  and  had  very  quickly  been  pronounced 
to  be  in  danger.  That  evening — the  evening  on  which 
his  sister  wrote — the  old  man  was  much  worse,  and  it  was 
desirable  that  Mark  should  go  off  to  Exeter  as  quickly  as 
possible.  Of  course  he  went  to  Exeter,  again  leaving  the 
Framley  souls  at  the  mercy  of  the  Welsh  Low-Churchman. 
Pramley  is  only  four  miles  from  Silverbridge,  and  at  Sil- 
verbridge  he  was  on  the  direct  road  to  the  west.  He  was 
therefore  at  Exeter  before  nightfall  on  that  day. 

But  nevertheless  he  arrived  there  too  late  to  see  his  fa- 
ther again  alive.  The  old  man's  illness  had  been  sudden 
and  rapid,  and  he  expired  without  again  seeing  his  eldest 
son.  Mark  arrived  at  the  house  of  mourning  just  as  they 
were  learning  to  realize  the  full  change  in  their  position. 

The  doctor's  career  had  been,  on  the  whole,  successful, 
but  nevertheless  he  did  not  leave  behind  him  as  much 
money  as  the  world  had  given  him  credit  for  possessing. 
Who  ever  doe^?  Dr.  Robarts  had  educated  a  large  fam- 
ily, had  always  lived  with  every  comfort,  and  had  never 
possessed  a  shilling  but  what  he  had  earned  himself.  A 
physician's  fees  come  in,  no  doubt,  with  comfortable  rapid- 
ity as  soon  as  rich  old  gentlemen  and  middle-aged  ladies 
begin  to  put  their  faith  in  him,  but  fees  run  out  almost  with 
equal  rapidity  when  a  wife  and  seven  children  are  treated 
to  every  thing  that  the  world  considers  most  desirable. 
Mark,  we  have  seen,  had  been  educated  at  Harrow  and 
Oxford,  and  it  may  be  said,  therefore,  that  he  had  received 
his  patrimony  early  in  life.  For  Gerald  Robarts,  the  sec- 
ond brother,  a  commission  had  been  bought  in  a  crack 
regiment.  He  also  had  been  lucky,  having  lived  and  be- 
come a  captain  in  the  Crimea;  and  the  purchase-money 
was  lodged  for  his  majority.  And  John  Robarts,  the 
youngest,  was  a  clerk  in  the  Petty  Bag  Office,  and  was  al- 
ready assistant  private  secretary  to  the  Lord  Petty  Bag 
himself — a  place  of  considerable  trust,  if  not  hitherto  of 
large  emolument ;  and  on  his  education  money  had  been 
spent  freely,  for  in  these  days  a  young  man  can  not  get 


110  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

into  the  Petty  Bag  Office  without  knowing  at  least  three 
modern  languages ;  and  he  must  be  well  up  in  trigonom- 
etry too,  in  Bible  theology,  or  in  one  dead  language — at 
his  option. 

And  the  doctor  had  four  daughters.  The  two  elder 
were  married,  including  that  Blanche  with  whom  Lord 
Lufton  was  to  have  fallen  in  love  at  the  vicar's  wedding. 
A  Devonshire  squire  had  done  this  in  the  lord's  place ; 
but  on  marrying  her  it  was  necessary  that  he  should  have 
a  few  thousand  pounds,  two  or  three  perhaps,  and  the  old 
doctor  had  managed  that  they  should  be  forthcoming. 
The  elder  also  had  not  been  sent  away  from  the  paternal 
mansion  quite  empty-handed.  There  Avere,  therefore,  at 
the  time  of  the  doctor's  death,  two  children  left  at  home, 
of  whom  one  only,  Lucy,  the  younger,  Avill  come  much 
across  us  in  the  course  of  our  story. 

Mark  staid  for  ten  days  at  Exeter,  he  and  the  Devon- 
shire squire  having  been  named  as  executors  in  the  will. 
Li  this  document  it  was  explained  that  the  doctor  trusted 
that  provision  had  been  made  for  most  of  his  children.  As 
for  his  dear  son  Mark,  he  said,  he  was  aware  that  he  need 
be  under  no  uneasiness.  On  hearing  this  read  Mark  smiled 
sweetly  and  looked  very  gracious ;  but,  nevertheless,  his 
heart  did  sink  somewhat  within  him,  for  there  had  been  a 
hope  that  a  small  windfall,  coming  noAV  so  opportunely, 
might  enable  him  to  rid  himself  at  once  of  that  dreadful 
Sowerby  incubus.  And  then  the  will  went  on  to  declare 
that  Mary,  and  Gerald,  and  Blanche  had  also,  by  God's 
providence,  been  placed  beyond  want.  And  here,  looking 
into  the  squire's  face,  one  might  have  thought  that  his 
heart  fell  a  little  also,  for  he  had  not  so  full  a  command  of 
his  feelings  as  his  brother-in-law,  who  had  been  so  mucli 
more  before  the  world.  To  John,  the  assistant  private 
secretary,  was  left  a  legacy  of  a  thousand  pounds ;  and  to 
Jane  and  Lucy  certain  sums  in  certain  four  per  cents., 
which  were  quite  sufficient  to  add  an  efficient  value  to  the 
hands  of  those  young  ladies  in  the  eyes  of  most  prudent 
young  would-be  Benedicts.  Over  and  beyond  this  there 
was  nothing  but  the  furniture,  which  he  desired  might  be 
sold,  and  the  proceeds  divided  among  them  all.  It  might 
come  to  sixty  or  seventy  pounds  a  piece,  and  pay  the  ex- 
penses incidental  on  his  death. 

And  then  all  men  and  women  there  and  thereabouts  said 


FRAMLEY    P  ARSON  AG  K.  Ill 

that  old  Dr.  Robarts  li:xd  done  well.  His  life  had  been 
good  and  prosperous,  and  his  will  was  just.  And  Mark, 
among  others,  so  declared,  and  was  so  convinced,  in  spite 
of  his  own  little  disappointment.  And  on  the  third  morn- 
ing after  the  reading  of  the  will,  Squire  Crowdy,  of  Cream- 
clotted  Hall,  altogether  got  over  his  grief,  and  said  that  it 
was  all  right.  And  then  it  was  decided  that  Jane  should 
go  home  with  him — for  there  was  a  brother  squire  who,  it 
was  thought,  might  have  an  eye  to  Jane;  and  Lucy,  the 
younger,  should  be  taken  to  Framley  Parsonage.  In  a 
fortnight  from  the  receipt  of  that  letter  Mark  arrived  at  his 
own  house  with  his  sister  Lucy  under  his  wing. 

All  this  interfered  greatly  with  Mark's  wise  resolution 
as  to  the  Sowerby-bill  incubus.  In  the  first  place,  he  could 
not  get  to  Barchester  as  soon  as  he  had  intended,  and  then 
an  idea  came  across  him  that  possibly  it  might  be  well  that 
he  should  borrow  the  money  of  his  brother  John,  explain- 
ing the  circumstances  of  course,  and  paying  him  due  inteiv 
est.  But  he  had  not  liked  to  broach  the  subject  when 
they  were  there  in  Exeter,  standing,  as  it  were,  over  their 
father's  grave,  and  so  the  matter  was  postponed.  There 
.was  still  ample  time  for  arrangement  before  the  bill  would 
come  due,  and  he  would  not  tell  Fanny  till  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  what  that  arrangement  would  be.  It  would 
kill  her,  he  said  to  himself  over  and  over  again,  were  he  to 
tell  her  of  it  without  being  able  to  -  tell  her  also  that  the 
means  of  liquidating  the  debt  were  to  be  forthcoming. 

And  now  I  must  say  a  word  about  Lucy  Robarts.  If 
one  might  only  go  on  without  those  descriptions,  how- 
pleasant  it  would  all  be !  But  Lucy  Robarts  has  to  play  a 
forward  part  in  this  little  drama,  and  those  who  care  for 
such  matters  must  be  made  to  understand  something  of 
her  form  and  likeness.  When  last  we  mentioned  her  as 
appearing,  though  not  in  any  prominent  position,  at  her 
brother's  wedding,  she  was  only  sixteen ;  but  now,  at  the 
time  of  her  father's  death,  somewhat  over  two  years  having 
since  elapsed,  she  was  nearly  nineteen.  Laying  aside,  for 
the  sake  of  clearness,  that  indefinite  term  of  girl — fgr  girls 
are  girls  from  the  age  of  three  up  to  forty-three,  if  not 
previously  married — dropping  that  generic  word,  we  may 
say  that  then,  at  that  wedding  of  her  brother,  she  was  a 
child,  and  now,  at  the  death  of  her  father,  she  was  a  woman. 

Nothing,  perhaps,  adds  so  much  to  womanhood,  turns 


1  1  2  FllAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

the  child  so  quickly  into  a  woman,  as  such  death-bed  scenes 
as  these.  Hitherto  but  little  had  fallen  to  Lucy  to  do  in 
the  way  of  woman's  duties.  Of  money  transactions  she  had 
known  nothing  beyond  a  jocose  attempt  to  make  her  annual 
allowance  of  twenty-five  pounds  cover  all  her  personal  wants 
— an  attempt  which  was  made  jocose  by  the  loving  bounty 
of  her  father.  Her  sister,  who  was  three  years  her  elder — 
for  John  came  in  between  them — had  managed  the  house ; 
that  is,  she  made  the  tea,  and  talked  to  the  housekeeper 
about  the  dinners.  But  Lucy  had  sat  at  her  father's  elbow, 
had  read  to  him  of  evenings  when  he  went  to  sleep,  had 
brought  him  his  slippers  and  looked  after  the  comforts  of 
his  easy-chair.  All  this  she  had  done  as  a  child ;  but  when 
she  stood  at  the  coffin  head,  and  knelt  at  the  coffin  side, 
then  she  was  a  woman. 

She  was  smaller  in  stature  than  either  of  her  three  sis- 
ters, to  all  of  whom  had  been  acceded  the  praise  of  being 
fine  women — a  eulogy  which  the  people  of  Exeter,  looking 
back  at  the  elder  sister,  and  the  general  remembrance  of 
them  which  pervaded  the  city,  were  not  willing  to  extend 
to  Lucy.  "  Dear !  dear !"  had  been  said  of  her, "  poor  Lucy 
is  not  like  a  Robarts  at  all ;  is  she,  now,  Mrs.  Pole  ?"  for,  as 
the  daughters  had  grown  into  fine  w^omen,  so  had  the  sons 
grown  into  stalwart  men.  And  then  Mrs.  Pole  had  answer- 
ed, "  Not  a  bit ;  is  she,  now  ?  Only  think  what  Blanche 
was  at  her  age.  But  she  has  fine  eyes  for  all  that ;  and 
they  do  say  she  is  the  cleverest  of  them  all." 

And  that,  too,  is  so  true  a  description  of  her,  that  I  do 
not  know  that  I  can  add  much  to  it.  She  Avas  not  like 
Blanche;  for  Blanche  had  a  bright  complexion,  and  a  fine 
neck,  and  a  noble  bust,  et  vera  incessu  patuit  Dea — a  true 
goddess,  that  is,  as  far  as  the  eye  Avent.  She  had  a  grand 
idea,  moreover,  of  an  apple-pie,  and  had  not  reigned  eight- 
-een  months  at  Creamclotted  Hall  before  she  knew  all  the 
mysteries  of  pigs  and  milk,  and  most  of  those  appertaining 
to  cider  and  green  geese.  Lucy  had  no  neck  at  all  worth 
speaking  of — no  neck,  I  mean,  that  ever  produced  elo- 
quence; she  was  brown,  too,  and  had  addicted  herself  in 
no  wise,  Jis  she  undoubtedly  should  have  done,  to  larder 
utility.  In  regard  to  the  neck  and  color,  poor  girl,  she 
could  not  help  herself;  but  in  that  other  respect  she  must 
be  held  as  having  wasted  her  opportunities. 

But  then  what  eves  she  had  !    Mrs.  Pole  was  ris:ht  there. 


FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE.  113 

They  flashed  upon  you — not  always  softly ;  indeed,  not 
often  softly,  if  you  were  a  stranger  to  her ;  but,  whether 
softly  or  savagely,  with  a  brilliancy  that  dazzled  you  as  you 
looked  at  them.  And  who  shall  say  of  what  color  they 
were  ?  Green  probably,  for  most  eyes  are  green — green 
or  gray,  if  green  be  thought  uncomely  for  an  eye-color.  But 
it  was  not  their  color,  but  their  fire,  which  struck  one  with 
such  surprise. 

Lucy  liobarts  was  thoroughly  a  brunette.  Sometimes 
the  dark  tint  of  her  cheek  was  exquisitely  rich  and  lovely, 
and  the  fringes  of  her  eyes  were  long  and  soft,  and  her  small 
teeth,  Avhich  one  so  seldom  saw,  were  white  as  pearls,  and 
her  hair,  though  short,  was  beautifully  soft — by  no  means 
black,  but  yet  of  so  dark  a  shade  of  brown.  Blanche,  too, 
was  noted  for  fine  teeth.  They  were  white  and  regular, 
and  lofty  as  a  new  row  of  houses  in  a  French  city.  But 
then,  when  she  laughed,  she  was  all  teeth,  as  she  was  all 
neck  when  she  sat  at  the  piano.  But  Lucy's  teeth — it  was 
only  now  and  again,  when  in  some  sudden  burst  of  wonder 
she  would  sit  for  a  moment  with  her  lips  apart,  that  the 
fine  finished  lines  and  dainty  pearl-white  color  of  that  per- 
fect set  of  ivory  could  be  seen.  Mrs.  Pole  would  have  said 
a  word  of  her  teeth  also,  but  that  to  her  they  had  never  been 
made  visible. 

"  But  they  do  say  she  is  the  cleverest  of  them  all,"  Mrs. 
Pole  had  added,  very  properly.  The  people  of  Exeter  had 
expressed  such  an  opinion,  and  had  been  quite  just  in  doing 
so.  I  do  not  know  how  it  happens,  but  it  always  does  hap- 
pen, that  every  body  in  every  small  town  knows  which  is 
the  brightest-witted  in  every  family.  In  this  respect  Mrs. 
Pole  had  only  expressed  public  opinion,  and  public  opinion 
was  right.  Lucy  Robarts  was  blessed  with  an  intelligence 
keener  than  that  of  her  brothers  or  sisters. 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  Mark,  I  admire  Lucy  more  than  I  do 
Blanche."  This  had  been  said  by  Mrs.  liobarts  within  a 
few  hours  of  her  having  assumed  that  name.  "She's  not 
a  beauty,  I  know,  but  yet  I  do." 

"  My  dearest  Fanny !"  Mark  had  answered,  in  a  tone  of 
surprise. 

"  I  do,  then  ;  of  course,  people  won't  think  so  ;  but  I  nev- 
er seem  to  care  about  regular  beauties.  Perhaps  I  envy 
them  too  much." 

What  Mark  said  next  need  not  be  repeated,  but  every 


114  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

body  may  be  sure  that  it  contained  some  gross  flattery  for 
his  young  bride.  He  remembered  this,  however,  and  had 
always  called  Lucy  his  wife's  pet.  Neither  of  the  sisters 
had  since  that  been  at  Framley ;  and  though  Fanny  had 
spent  a  week  at  Exeter  on  the  occasion  of  Blanche's  mar- 
riage, it  could  hardly  be  said  that  she  was  very  intimate 
with  them.  Nevertheless,  when  it  became  expedient  that 
one  of  them  should  go  to  Framley,  the  remembrance  of 
what  his  wife  had  said  immediately  induced  Mark  to  make 
the  offer  to  Lucy;  and  Jane,  who  was  of  a  kindred  soul 
with  Blanche,  was  delighted  to  go  Creamclotted  Hall.  The 
acres  of  Heavybed  House,  down  in  that  fat  Totnes  country, 
adjoined  those  of  Creamclotted  Hall,  and  Heavybed  House 
still  wanted  a  mistress. 

Fanny  was  delighted  when  the  news  reached  her.  It 
would,  of  course,  be  proper  that  one  of  his  sisters  should 
live  with  Mark  under  their  present  circumstances,  and  she 
was  happy  to  think  that  that  quiet  little  bright-eyed  crea- 
ture was  to  come  and  nestle  with  her  under  the  same  roof. 
The  children  should  so  love  her — only  not  quite  so  much 
as  they  loved  mamma ;  and  the  snug  little  room  that  looks 
out  over  the  porch,  in  which  the  chimney  never  smokes, 
should  be  made  ready  for  her ;  and  she  should  be  allowed 
her  share  of  driving  the  pony — which  was  a  great  sacrifice 
of  self  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Robarts,  and  Lady  Lufton's  best 
good- will  should  be  bespoken.  In  fact,  Lucy  was  not  un- 
fortunate in  the  destination  that  was  laid  out  for  her. 

Lady  Lufton  had  of  course  heard  of  the  doctor's  death, 
and  had  sent  all  manner  of  kind  messages  to  Mark,  advis- 
ing him  not  to  hurry  home  by  any  means  until  every  thing 
was  settled  at  Exeter.  And  then  she  was  told  of  the  new- 
comer that  was  expected  in  the  parish.  When  she  heard 
that  it  was  Lucy,  the  younger,  she  also  was  satisfied ;  for 
Blanche's  charms,  though  indisputable,  had  not  been  alto- 
gether to  her  taste.  If  a  second  Blanche  were  to  arrive 
there,  what  danger  might  there  not  be  for  young  Lord  Luf- 
ton! 

"  Quite  right,"  said  her  ladyship ;  "just  what  he  ought 
to  do.  I  think  I  remember  the  young  lady ;  rather  small, 
is  she  not,  and  very  retiring  ?" 

"  Rather  small  and  very  retiring.  "What  a  description !" 
said  Lord  Lufton. 

"Never  mind,  Ludovic;  some  young  ladies  must  be  small. 


FRAMtEY    PARSONAGE.  115 

and  some,  at  least,  ought  to  be  retiring.  We  shall  be  de- 
lighted to  make  her  acquaintance." 

"  I  remember  your  other  sister-in-law  very  well,"  said 
Lord  Lufton.     "  She  was  a  beautiful  woman." 

"I  don't  think  you  will  consider  Lucy  a  beauty,"  said 
Mrs.  Robarts. 

"  Small,  retiring,  and — "  so  far  Lord  Lufton  had  gone, 
when  Mrs.  Robarts  finished  by  the  word  "  plain."  She  had 
liked  Lucy's  face,  but  she  had  thought  that  others  probably 
did  not  do  so. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Lady  Lufton,  "  you  don't  deserve 
to  have  a  sister-in-law.  I  remember  her  very  well,  and  can 
say  that  she  is  not  plain.  I  was  very  much  taken  with  her 
manner  at  your  wedding,  my  dear,  and  thought  more  of  her 
than  I  did  of  the  beauty,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  I  must  confess  I  do  not  remember  her  at  all,"  said  his 
lordship.     And  so  the  conversation  ended. 

And  then,  at  the  end  of  the  fortnight,  Mark  arrived  with 
his  sister.  They  did  not  reach  Framley  till  long  after  dark 
— somewhere  between  six  and  seven,  and  by  this  time  it 
was  December.  There  was  snow  on  the  ground,  and  frost 
in  the  air,  and  no  moon,  and  cautious  men,  when  they  went 
on  the  roads,  had  their  horses'  shoes  cocked.  Such  being 
the  state  of  the  weather,  Mark's  gig  had  been  nearly  filled 
w^ith  cloaks  and  shawls  when  it  was  sent  over  to  Silver- 
bridge.  And  a  cart  was  sent  for  Lucy's  luggage,  and  all 
manner  of  preparations  had  been  made.  Three  times  had 
Fanny  gone  herself  to  see  that  the  fire  burned  brightly  in 
the  little  room  over  the  porch,  and  at  the  moment  that  the 
sound  of  the  wheels  was  heard  she  was  engaged  in  open- 
ing her  son's  mind  as  to  the  nature  of  an  aunt.  Hitherto 
papa  and  mamma  and  Lady  Lufton  were  all  that  he  had 
known,  excepting,  of  course,  the  satellites  of  the  nursery. 

And  then,  in  three  minutes,  Lucy  was  standing  by  the 
fire.  Those  three  minutes  had  been  taken  up  in  embraces 
between  the  husband  and  the  wife.  Let  who  would  bo 
brought  as  a  visitor  to  the  house,  after  a  fortnight's  ab- 
sence, she  would  kiss  him  before  she  welcomed  any  one 
else.  But  then  she  turned  to  Lucy,  and  began  to  assist  her 
with  her  cloaks. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  said  Lucy  ;  "  I'm  not  cold — not  very, 
at  least.  Don't  trouble  yourself;  I  can  do  it."  But  here 
she  had  made  a  false  boast,  for  her  fingers  had  been  so 
numbed  that  she  could  do  nor  undo  any  thing. 


116  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

They  were  not  all  in  black,  of  course ;  but  the  sombre- 
ness  of  Lucy's  clothes  struck  Fanny  much  more  than  her 
own.  They  seemed  to  have  swallowed  her  up  hi  their 
blackness,  and  to  have  made  her  almost  an  emblem  of 
death.  She  did  not  look  up,  but  kept  her  face  turned  to- 
ward the  fire,  and  seemed  almost  afraid  of  her  position. 

"She  may  say  what  she  likes,  Fanny,"  said  Mark,  "but 
she  is  very  cold.  And  so  am  I — cold  enough.  You  had 
better  go  up  with  her  to  her  room.  We  won't  do  much 
in  the  dressing  way  to-night ;  eh,  Lucy  ?" 

In  the  bedroom  Lucy  thawed  a  little,  and  Fanny,  as  she 
kissed  her,  said  to  herself  that  she  had  been  wrong  as  to 
that  word  "  plain."     Lucy,  at  any  rate,  was  not  plain. 

"You  will  be  used  to  us  soon,"  said  Fanny,  "and  then 
I  hope  we  shall  make  you  comfortable."  And  she  took 
her  sister-in-law's  hand  and  pressed  it. 

Lucy  looked  up  at  her,  and  her  eyes  then  were  tender 
enough.  "I  am  sure  I  shall  be  happy  here,"  she  said, "  with 
you.  But — but^ — dear  papa!"  And  then  they  got  into 
each  other's  arms,  and  had  a  great  bout  of  kissing  and  cry- 
ing. "  Plain,"  said  Fanny  to  herself,  as  at  last  she  got  her 
guest's  hair  smoothed  and  the  tears  washed  from  her  eyes 
— "plain!  She  has  the  loveliest  countenance  that  I  ever 
looked  at  in  my  life !" 

"Your  sister  is  quite  beautiful,"  she  said  to  Mark,  as 
they  talked  her  over  alone  before  they  went  to  sleep  that 
night. 

"  No,  she's  not  beautiful,  but  she's  a  very  good  girl,  and 
clever  enough  too,  in  her  sort  of  way." 

"  I  think  her  perfectly  lovely.  I  never  saw  such  eyes  in 
my  life  before." 

"  I'll  leave  her  in  your  hands,  then ;  you  shall  get  her  a 
husband." 

"  That  mayn't  be  so  easy.  I  don't  think  she'd  marry  any 
body." 

"  Well,  I  hope  not.  But  she  seems  to  me  to  be  exactly 
cut  out  for  an  old  maid — to  be  aunt  Lucy  forever  and  ever 
to  your  bairns." 

"  And  so  she  shall,  with  all  my  heart.  But  I  don't  think 
she  will,  very  long.  I  have  no  doubt  she  will  be  hard  to 
pleascj  but  if  I  were  a  man  I  should  fall  in  love  with  her  at 
once.     Did  you  ever  observe  her  teeth,  Mark  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  I  ever  did." 


FKAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  117 

"  You  wouldn't  know  whether  any  one  had  a  tooth  m 
their  head,  I  beUeve." 

"  No  one,  except  you,  my  dear,  and  I  know  all  yours  by 
heart." 

"  You  are  a  goose." 

"  And  a  very  sleepy  one ;  so,  if  you  please,  I'll  go  to 
roost."  And  thus  there  was  nothing  more  said  about 
Lucy's  beauty  on  that  occasion. 

For  the  first  two  days  Mrs.  Robarts  did  not  make  much 
of  her  sister-in-law.  Lucy,  indeed,  was  not  demonstrative ; 
and  she  was,  moreover,  one  of  those  few  persons — for  they 
are  very  few — who  are  contented  to  go  on  with  their  ex- 
istence without  making  themselves  the  centre  of  any  spe- 
cial outward  circle.  To  the  ordinary  run  of  minds  it  is 
impossible  not  to  do  this.  A  man's  own  dinner  is  to  him- 
self so  important  that  he  can  not  bring  himself  to  believe 
that  it  is  a  matter  utterly  indifferent  to  every  one  else.  A 
lady's  collection  of  baby-clothes  in  early  years,  and  of  house- 
linen  and  curtain-fringes  in  later  life,  is  so  very  interesting 
to  her  own  eyes,  that  she  can  not  believe  but  what  other 
people  will  rejoice  to  behold  it.  I  would  not,  however,  be 
held  as  regarding  this  tendency  as  evil.  It  leads  to  con- 
versation of  some  sort  among  people,  and  perhaps  to  a  kind 
of  sympathy.  Mrs.  Jones  will  look  at  Mrs.  White's  linen- 
chest,  hoping  that  Mrs.  White  may  be  induced  to  look  at 
hers.  One  can  only  pour  out  of  a  jug  that  which  is  in  it. 
For  the  most  of  us,  if  we  do  not  talk  of  ourselves,  or,  at 
any  rate,  of  the  individual  circles  of  which  we  are  the  cen- 
tres, we  can  talk  of  nothing.  I  can  not  hold  with  those 
who  wish  to  put  down  the  insignificant  chatter  of  the  world. 
As  for  myself,  I  am  always  happy  to  look  at  Mrs.  Jones's 
linen,  and  never  omit  an  opportunity  of  giving  her  the  de- 
tails of  my  own  dinners. 

But  Lucy  Robarts  had  not  not  this  gift.  She  had  come 
there  as  a  stranger  into  her  sister-in-law's  house,  and  at  first 
seemed  as  though  she  would  be  contented  in  simply  having 
her  corner  in  the  drawing-room  and  her  place  at  the  parlor 
table.  She  did  not  seem  to  need  the  comforts  of  condo- 
lence and  open-hearted  talking.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that 
she  was  moody,  that  she  did  not  answer  when  she  was 
spoken  to,  or  that  she  took  no  notice  of  the  children ;  but 
she  did  not  at  once  throw  herself,  and  all  her  hopes  and  sor^ 
rows,  into  Fanny's  heart,  as  Fanny  would  have  had  her  do. 


118  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

Mrs.  Robarts  herself  was  what  we  call  demonstrative. 
When  she  was  angry  with  Lady  Lufton  she  showed  it. 
And  as,  since  that  time,  her  love  and  admiration  for  Lady 
Lufton  had  increased,  she  showed  that  also.  When  she 
was  in  any  way  displeased  with  her  husband,  she  could  not 
hide  it,  even  though  she  tried  to  do  so,  and  fancied  herself 
successful — no  more  than  she  could  hide  her  warm,  con- 
stant, overflowing  woman's  love.  She  could  not  walk 
through  a  room  hanging  on  her  husband's  arm  without 
seeming  to  proclaim  to  every  one  there  that  she  thought 
him  the  best  man  in  it.  She  was  demonstrative,  and  there- 
fore she  was  the  more  disappointed  in  that  Lucy  did  not 
rush  at  once  with  all  her  cares  into  her  open  heart. 

"  She  is  so  quiet,"  Fanny  said  to  her  husband. 

"  That's  her  nature,"  said  Mark.  "  She  always  was  quiet 
as  a  child.  While  we  were  smashing  every  thing,  she 
would  never  crack  a  teacup." 

"  I  wish  she  would  break  something  now,"  said  Fanny, 
"  and  then  perhaps  we  should  get  to  talk  about  it."  But 
she  did  not,  on  this  account,  give  over  loving  her  sister-in- 
law.  She  probably  valued  her  the  more,  unconsciously,  for 
not  having  those  aptitudes  with  which  she  herself  was  en- 
dowed. 

And  then,  after  two  days.  Lady  Lufton  called  ;  of  course 
it  may  be  supposed  that  Fanny  had  said  a  good  deal  to  her 
new  inmate  about  Lady  Lufton.  A  neighbor  of  that  kind 
in  the  country  exercises  so  large  an  influence  upon  the 
whole  tenor  of  one's  life,  that  to  abstain  from  such  talk  is 
out  of  the  question.  Mrs.  Robarts  had  been  brought  up 
almost  under  the  dowager's  Aving,  and  of  course  she  re- 
garded her  as  being  worthy  of  much  talking.  Do  not  let 
persons  on  this  account  suppose  that  Mrs.  Robarts  was  a 
tuft-hunter  or  a  toadeater.  If  they  do  not  see  the  differ- 
ence, they  have  yet  got  to  study  the  earliest  principles  of 
human  nature. 

Lady  Lufton  called,  and  Lucy  was  struck  dumb.  Fanny 
Avas  particularly  anxious  that  her  ladyship's  first  impression 
should  be  favorable,  and,  to  effect  this,  she  especially  en- 
deavored to  throw  the  two  together  during  that  visit.  But 
in  this  she  Avas  unwise.  Lady  Lufton,  however,  had  wom- 
an-craft enough  not  to  be  led  into  any  egregious  error  by 
Lucy's  silence. 

"  And  what  day  will  you  come  and  dine  Avith  us  ?"  said 


FRAMLEY    I'AKSOXAGE.  119 

Lady  Liifton,  turning  expressly  to  her  old  friend  Fan- 
ny. 

"  Oh,  do  you  name  the  day.  We  never  have  many  en- 
gagements, you  know." 

"  Will  Thursday  do,  Miss  Robarts  ?  ,  You  will  meet  no- 
body you  know,  only  my  son ;  so  you  need  not  regard  it 
as  going  out.  Fanny,  here,  will  tell  you  that  stepping 
over  to  Framley  Court  is  no  more  going  out  than  when 
you  go  from  one  room  to  another  in  the  parsonage.  Is  it, 
Fanny  ?" 

Fanny  laughed  and  said  that  that  stepping  over  to  Fram. 
ley  Court  certainly  was  done  so  often  that  perhaps  they 
did  not  think  so  much  about  it  as  they  ought  to  do. 

"  We  consider  ourselves  a  sort  of  happy  family  here. 
Miss  Robarts,  and  are  delighted  to  have  the  opportunity 
of  including  yon  in  the  menage." 

Lucy  gave  her  ladyship  one  of  her  sweetest  smiles,  but 
what  she  said  at  that  moment  was  inaudible.  It  wns  plain, 
however,  that  she  could  not  bring  herself  even  to  go  as  far 
as  Framley  Court  for  her  dinner  just  at  present.  "  It  was 
very  kind  of  Lady  Lufton,"  she  said  to  Fanny ;  "  but  it  was 
so  very  soon,  and — and — and  if  they  would  only  go  without 
her,  she  would  be  so  happy."  But  as  the  object  was  to  go 
with  her — expressly  to  take  her  there — the  dinner  was  ad- 
journed for  a  short  time — sine  die. 


CHAPTER  XL 

GRISELDA  GRANTLY. 


It  was  nearly  a  month  after  this  that  Lucy  was  first  in- 
troduced to  Lord  Lufton,  and  then  it  was  brought  about 
only  by  accident.  During  that  time  Lady  Lufton  had  been 
often  at  the  parsonage,  and  had  in  a  certain  degree  learned 
to  know  Lucy;  but  the  stranger  in  the  parish  had  never 
yet  plucked  up  courage  to  accept  one  of  the  numerous  in- 
vitations that  had  reached  her.  Mr.  Robarts  and  his  wife 
had  frequently  been  at  Framley  Court,  but  the  dreaded  day 
of  Lucy's  initiation  had  not  yet  arrived. 

She  had  seen  Lord  Lufton  in  church,  but  hardly  so  as  to 
know  him,  and  beyond  that  she  had  not  seen  him  at  all. 
One  day,  however — or  rather  one  evening,  for  it  was  al- 
ready dusk — he  overtook  her  and  Mrs.  Robarts  on  the  road 


120  FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

walking  toward  the  vicarage.  He  had  his  gun  on  his 
shoulder,  three  pointers  were  at  his  heels,  and  a  gamekeeper 
followed  a  little  in  the  rear. 

"  How  are  you,  Mrs.  Robarts  ?"  he  said,  almost  before 
he  had  overtaken  them.  "  I  have  been  chasing  you  along 
the  road  for  the  last  half  mile.  I  never  knew  ladies  walk 
so  fast." 

"  We  should  be  frozen  if  we  were  to  dawdle  about  as 
you  gentlemen  do,"  and  then  she  stopped  and  shook  hands 
with  him.  She  forgot  at  the  moment  that  Lucy  and  he 
had  not  met,  and  therefore  she  did  not  introduce  them. 

"Won't  you  make  me  known  to  your  sister-in-law?" 
said  he,  taking  off  his  hat  and  bowing  to  Lucy.  "  I  have 
never  yet  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  her,  though  we  have 
been  neighbors  for  a  month  and  more." 

Fanny  made  her  excuses  and  introduced  them,  and  then 
they  went  on  till  they  came  to  Framley  Gate,  Lord  Lufton 
talking  to  them  both,  and  Fanny  answering  for  the  two, 
and  there  they  stopped  for  a  moment. 

"  I  am  surprised  to  see  you  alone,"  Mrs.  Robarts  had 
just  said ;  "  I  thought  that  Captain  Culpepper  was  with 
you." 

"  The  captain  has  left  me  for  this  one  day.  If  you'll 
whisper  I'll  tell  you  where  he  has  gone.  I  dare  not  speak 
it  out  loud,  even  to  the  woods." 

"  To  what  terrible  place  can  he  have  taken  himself?  I'll 
Iiave  no  whisperings  about  such  horrors." 

"  He  has  gone  to — to — but  you'll  promise  not  to  tell  my 
mother?" 

"Not  tell  your  mother!  Well,  now,  you  have  excited 
my  curiosity;  Avhere  can  he  be?" 

"  Do  you  promise,  then  ?" 

"Oh  yes,  I  will  promise,  because  I'm  sure  Lady  Lufton 
won't  ask  me  as  to  Captain  Culpepper's  whereabouts.  We 
won't  tell ;  will  we,  Lucy  ?" 

"  He  has  gone  to  Gatherum  Castle  for  a  day's  pheasant- 
shooting.  Now,  mind,  you  must  hot  betray  us.  Her  lady- 
ship supposes  that  he  is  shut  up  in  his  room  with  a  tooth- 
ache.    We  did  not  dare  to  mention  the  name  to  her." 

And  then  it  appeared  that  Mrs.  Robarts  had  some  en- 
gagement which  made  it  necessary  that  she  should  go  up 
and  see  Lady  Lufton,  whereas  Lucy  was  intending  to  walk 
on  to  the  parsonage  alone. 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  121 

"And  I  have  promised  to  go  to  your  husband,"  said 
Lord  Lufton,  "  or  rather  to  your  husband's  dog,  Ponto. 
And  I  will  do  two  other  good  things :  I  will  carry  a  brace 
of  pheasants  with  rae,  and  protect  Miss  Robarts  from  the 
evil  spirits  of  the  Fraraley  roads."  And  so  Mrs.  Robarts 
turned  in  at  the  gate,  and  Lucy  and  his  lordship  walked 
oflf  together. 

Lord  Lufton,  though  he  had  never  before  spoken  to  Miss 
Robarts,  he  had  already  found  out  that  she  was  by  no 
means  plain.  Though  he  had  hardly  seen  her  except  at 
church,  he  had  already  made  himself  certain  that  the  own- 
er of  that  face  must  be  worth  know^ing,  and  was  not  sorry 
to  have  the  present  opportunity  of  speaking  to  her.  "  So 
you  have  an  unknown  damsel  shut  up  in  your  castle,"  he 
had  once  said  to  Mrs.  Robarts.  "  If  she  be  kept  a  prisoner 
much  longer,  I  shall  find  it  my  duty  to  come  and  release 
her  by  force  of  arms."  He  had  been  there  twice  with  the 
object  of  seeing  her,  but  on  both  occasions  Lucy  had  man- 
aged to  escape.  Now  we  may  say  she  was  fairly  caught, 
and  Loi'd  Lufton,  taking  a  pair  of  pheasants  from  the  game- 
keeper, and  swinging  them  over  his  shoulder,  walked  oft* 
with  his  prey. 

"  You  have  been  here  a  long  time,"  he  said,  "  without 
our  having  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you." 

"  Yes,  my  lord,"  said  Lucy.  Lords  had  not  been  frequent 
among  her  acquaintance  hitherto. 

"  I  tell  Mrs.  Robarts  that  she  has  been  confining  you  il- 
legally, and  that  we  shall  release  you  by  force  or  stratagem." 
"  I — I — I  have  had  a  great  sorrow  lately." 
"Yes,  Miss  Robarts,  I  kfow  you  have;  and  I  am  only 
joking,  you  know.  But  I  do  hope  that  now  you  will  be 
able  to  come  among  us.  My  mother  is  so  anxious  that  you 
should  do  so." 

"  I  am  sure  she  is  very  kind,  and  you  also,  my  lord." 
"  I  never  knew  my  own  father,"  said  Lord  Lufton,  speak- 
ing gravely, "  but  I  can  well  understand  what  a  loss  you 
have  had."     And  then,  after  pausing  a  moment,  he  contin- 
ued, "  I  remember  Dr.  Robarts  well." 

"  Do  you,  indeed  ?"  said  Lucy,  turning  sharply  toward 
him,  and  speaking  now  with  some  animation  in  her  voice. 
Nobody  had  yet  spoken  to  her  about  her  father  since  she 
had  been  at  Framley.  It  had  been  as  though  the  subject 
were  a  forbidden  one.     And  how  frequently  is  this  the  case  I 

F  .  ..   ,    


122  FRAMLEY    PAKSOXAGE. 

When  those  we  love  are  dead,  our  friends  dread  to  mention 
them,  though  to  us  who  are  bereaved  no  subject  would  be 
so  pleasant  as  their  names.  But  we  rarely  understand  how 
to  treat  our  own  sorrow  or  those  of  others. 

There  was  once  a  people  in  some  land — and  they  may  be 
still  there,  for  what  I  know — who  thought  it  sacrilegious  to 
stay  the  course  of  a  raging  fire.  If  a  house  were  being 
burned,  burn  it  must,  even  though  there  were  facilities  for 
saving  it ;  for  who  would  dare  to  interfere  with  the  course 
of  the  god  ?  Our  idea  of  sorrow  is  much  the  same.  We 
think  it  wicked,  or,  at  any  rate,  heartless  to  put  it  out.  If 
a  man's  wife  be  dead,  he  should  go  about  lugubrious,  with 
long  face,  for  at  least  two  years,  or  perhaps  with  full  length 
for  eighteen  months,  decreasing  gradually  during  the  otber 
six.  If  he  be  a  man  who  can  quench  his  sorrow — put  out 
his  fire,  as  it  w^ere— in  less  time  than  that,  let  him,  at  any 
rate,  not  show  his  power ! 

"  Yes,  I  remember  him,"  continued  Lord  Lufton.  "  Ho 
came  twice  to  Framley  while  I  was  a  boy,  consulting  with 
my  mother  about  Mark  and  myself — whether  the  Eton  flog- 
gings were  not  more  efficacious  than  those  at  Harrow.  He 
was  very  kind  to  me,  foreboding  all  manner  of  good  things 
on  my  behalf." 

"He  was  very  kind  to  every  one,"  said  Lucy. 

"  I  should  think  he  would  have  been — a  kind,  good,  genial 
man — just  the  man  to  be  adored  by  his  own  family."        * 

"  Exactly ;  and  so  he  was.  I  do  not  remember  that  I 
ever  heard^  an  unkind  word  from  him.  There  was  not  a 
harsh  tone  in  his  voice.  And  he  was  generous  as  the  day." 
Lucy,  we  have  said,  was  not  generally  demonstrative,  but 
now,  on  this  subject,  and  with  this  absolute  stranger,  she 
became  almost  eloquent. 

"  I  do  not  wonder  that  you  should  feel  his  loss,  Miss 
Robarts." 

"  Oh,  I  do  feel  it.  Mark  is  the  best  of  brothers,  and  as 
for  Fanny,  she  is  too  kind  and  too  good  to  me.  But  I  had 
always  been  specially  my  father's  friend.  For  the  last  year 
or  two  we  had  lived  so  much  together !" 

"He  was  an  old  man  when  he  died,  was  he  not?" 

"  Just  seventy,  my  lord." 

"  Ah  !  then  he  was  old.  My  mother  is  only  fifty,  and  we 
sometimes  call  her  the  old  woman.  Do  you  think  she  looks 
older  than  that  ?  We  all  say  that  she  makes  herself  out  to 
be  so  much  more  ancient  than  she  need  do." 


FUAMLEY   TAKSONAGE.  123 

"  Lady  Lufton  does  not  dress  young." 

"  That  is  it.  Slie  never  has,  in  my  memory.  She  always 
used  to  wear  black  when  I  first  recollect  her.  She  has 
given  that  up  now ;  but  she  is  still  very  sombre,  is  she  not  ?" 

"I  do  not  like  ladies  to  dress  verv  young — that  is,  ladies 
of— of— " 

"  Ladies  of  fifty,  we  will  say  ?" 

"  Very  well ;  ladies  of  fifty,  if  you  like  it." 

"  Then  I  am  sure  you  will  like  my  mother." 

They  had  now  turned  up  through  the  parsonnge  wicket, 
a  little  gate  that  opened  into  the  garden  at  a  point  on  the 
road  nearer  than  the  chief  entrance. 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  find  Mark  at  the  house  ?"  said  he. 

"  I  dare  say  you  will,  my  lord." 

"  Well,  I'll  go  round  this  way,  for  my  business  is  partly 
in  the  stable.  You  see  I  am  quite  at  home  here,  though 
yoai  never  have  seen  me  before.  But,  Miss  Robarts,  now 
that  the  ice  is  broken,  I  hope  that  we  may  be  friends." 
He  then  put  out  his  hand,  and  when  she  gave  him  hers  he 
pressed  it  almost  as  an  old  friend  might  have  done.* 

And,  indeed,  Lucy  had  talked  to  him  almost  as  though 
he  were  an  old  friend.  For  a  minute  or  two  she  had  for- 
gotten that  he  was  a  lord  and  a  stranger — had  forgotten 
also  to  be  stiff  and  guarded,  as  was  her  wont.  Lord  Lufton 
had  spoken  to  her  as  though  he  had  really  cared  to  know 
her;  and  she,  unconsciously,  had  been  taken  by  the  com- 
pliment. Lord  Lufton,  indeed,  had  not  thought  mucli  about 
it — excepting  as  thus,  that  he  liked  the  glance  of  a  ]^air  of 
bright  eyes  as  most  other  young  men  do  like  it ;  but  on 
this  occasion,  the  evening  had  been  so  dark  that  he  had 
hardly  seen  Lucy's  eyes  at  all. 

"Well,  Lucy,  I  hope  you  liked  your  companion,"  Mrs. 
Robarts  said,  as  the  three  of  them  clustered  round  the 
drawing-room  fire  before  dinner. 

"  Oh  yes,  pretty  well,"  said  Lucy. 

"  That  is  not  at  all  complimentary  to  his  lordship." 

"I  did  not  mean  to  be  complimentary,  Fanny." 

"  Lucy  is  a  great  deal  too  matter-of-fact  for  compliments," 
said  Mark. 

"  What  I  meant  was,  that  I  had  no  great  opportunity  for 
judging,  seeing  that  I  was  only  with  Lord  Lufton  for  about 
ten  minutes." 

*  Sec  Frontispiece. 


124  FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

"All !  but  there  are  girls  here  who  would  give  their  eyes 
for  ten  minutes  of  Lord  Lufton  to  themselves.  You  do  not 
know  how  he's  valued.  He  has  the  character  of  being  al- 
ways able  to  make  himself  agreeable  to  ladies  at  half  a  min- 
ute's warning." 

"  Perhaps  he  had  not  the  half  minute's  warning  in  this 
case,"  said  Lucy,  hypocrite  that  she  was. 

"  Poor  Lucy,"  said  her  brother ;  "  he  was  coming  up  to 
see  Ponto's  shoulder,  and  I  am  afraid  he  was  thinking  more 
about  the  dog  than  you." 

.    "  Very  likely,"  said  Lucy ;  and  then  they  went  in  to  din- 
ner. 

Lucy  had  been  a  hypocrite,  for  she  had  confessed  to  her- 
self, while  dressing,  that  Lord  Lufton  had  been  very  pleas- 
ant ;  but  then  it  is  allowed  to  young  ladies  to  be  hypocrites 
when  the  subject  under  discussion  is  the  character  of  a 
young  gentleman. 

Soon  after  that,  Lucy  did  dine  at  Framley  Court.  Cap- 
tain Culpepper,  in  spite  of  his  enormity  with  reference  to 
Gatherum  Castle,  was  still  staying  there,  as  was  also  a 
clergyman  from  the  neighborhood  of  Barchester,  with  his 
wife  and  daughter.  This  was  Archdeacon  Grantly,  a  gen- 
tleman whom  we  have  mentioned  before,  and  who  was  as 
well  known  in  the  diocese  as  the  bishop  himself,  and  more 
thought  about  by  many  clergymen  than  even  thatillustri- 
ous  prelate. 

Miss  Grantly  was  a  young  lady  not  much  older  than  Lucy 
Robarts,  and  she  also  was  quiet,  and  not  given  to  much 
talking  in  open  company.  She  was  decidedly  a  beauty, 
but  somewhat  statuesque  in  her  loveliness.  Her  forehead 
was  high  and  white,  but  perhaps  too  like  marble  to  gratify 
the  taste  of  those  who  are  fond  of  flesh  and  blood.  Her 
eyes  were  large  and  exquisitely  formed,  but  they  seldom 
showed  much  emotion.  She,  indeed,  was  impassive  herself, 
and  betrayed  but  little  of  her  feelings.  Her  nose  was  near- 
ly Grecian,  not  coming  absolutely  in  a  straight  line  from 
her  forehead,  but  doing  so  nearly  enough  to  entitle  it  to  be 
considered  as  classical.  Her  mouth,  too,  was  very  fine — 
artists,  at  least,  said  so,  and  connoisseurs  in  beauty ;  but  to 
me  she  always  seemed  as  though  she  wanted  fullness  of  lip. 
But  the  exquisite  symmetry  of  her  cheek  and  chin  and  low- 
er face  no  man  could  deny.  Her  hair  was  light,  and,  being 
always  dressed  with  considerable  care,  did  not  detract  from 


FEAMLEY    PAKSONAGE.  125 

her  appearance;  but  it  lacked  that  richness  which  gives 
such  hixuriance  to  feminine  loveliness.  She  was  tall  and 
slight,  and  very  graceful  in  her  movements ;  but  there  were 
those  who  thought  she  wanted  the  ease  and  abandon  of 
youth.  They  said  that  she  was  too  composed  and  stiff  for 
her  age,  and  that  she  gave  but  little  to  society  beyond  the 
beauty  of  her  form  and  face. 

There  can  be  no  doubt,  however,  that  she  was  consider- 
ed by  most  men  and  women  to  be  the  beauty  of  Barset- 
shire,  and  that  gentlemen  from  neighboring  counties  would 
come  many  miles  through  dirty  roads  on  the  mere  hope  of 
being  able  to  dance  with  her.  Whatever  attractions  she 
may  have  lacked,  she  had,  at  any  rate,  created  for  herself  a 
great  reputation.  She  had  spent  two  months  of  the  last 
spring  in  London,  and  even  there  she  had  made  a  sensation ; 
and  people  had  said  that  Lord  Dumbello,  Lady  Hartletop's 
eldest  son,  had  been  peculiarly  struck  with  her. 

It  may  be  imagined  that  the  archdeacon  was  proud  of 
her,  and  so  indeed  was  Mrs.  Grantly — more  proud,  perhaps, 
of  her  daughter's  beauty  than  so  excellent  a  woman  should 
have  allowed  herself  to  be  of  such  an  attribute.  Griselda 
— ^that  was  her  name — was  now  an  only  daughter.  One 
sister  she  had  had,  but  that  sister  had  died.  There  were 
two  brothers  also  left,  one  in  the  Church  and  the  other  in 
the  army.  That  was  the  extent  of  the  archdeacon's  family ; 
and  as  the  archdeacon  was  a  very  rich  man — he  was  the 
only  child  of  his  father,  who  had  been  Bishop  of  Barchester 
for  a  great  many  years,  and  in  those  years  it  had  been  worth 
a  man's  while  to  be  Bishop  of  Barchester — it  was  supposed 
that  Miss  Grantly  would  have  a  large  fortune.  Mrs.  Grant- 
ly, however,  had  been  heard  to  say  that  she  was  in  no  hurry 
to  see  her  daughter  established  in  the  Avorld — oi-dinary 
young  ladies  are  merely  married,  but  those  of  real  import- 
ance are  established — and  this,  if  any  thing,  added  to  the 
value  of  the  prize.  Mothers  sometimes  depreciate  their 
wares  by  an  undue  solicitude  to  dispose  of  them. 

But  to  toll  the  truth  openly  and  at  once — a  virtue  for 
which  a  novelist  does  not  receive  very  much  commendation 
— Griselda  Grantly  was,  to  a  certain  extent,  already  given 
away.  Not  that  she,  Griselda,  knew  any  thing  about  it,  or 
that  the  thrice  happy  gentleman  had  been  made  aware  of 
his  good  fortune;  nor  even  had  the  archdeacon  been  told. 
But  Mrs.  Grantlv  and  Ladv  Lufton  had  been  closeted  to- 


120  PBAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

gether  more  than  once,  and  terras  had  been  signed  and  seal- 
ed between  them.  Not  signed  on  parchment,  and  -sealed 
with  wax,  as  is  the  case  with  treaties  made  by  kings  and 
diplomats,  to  be  broken  by  the  same,  but  signed  with  little 
words,  and  sealed  with  certain  pressings  of  the  hand — a 
treaty  which  between  two  such  contracting  parties  would 
be  binding  enough.  And  by  the  terms  of  this  treaty  Gri- 
selda  Grantly  w^as  to  become  Lady  Lufton. 

Lady  Lufton  had  hitherto  been  fortunate  in  her  matri- 
monial speculations.  She  had  selected  Sir  George  for  her 
daughter,  and  Sir  George,  with  the  utmost  good-nature,  had 
fallen  in  with  her  views.  She  had  selected  Fanny  Monsell 
for  Mr.  Robarts,  and  Fanny  Monsell  had  not  rebelled  against 
her.  Tliere  was  a  prestige  of  success  about  her  doings,  and 
she  felt  almost  confident  that  her  dear  son  Ludovic  must 
fall  in  love  with  Griselda. 

As  to  the  lady  herself,  nothing.  Lady  Lufton  thought, 
could  be  much  better  than  such  a  match  for  her  son.  Lady 
Lufton,  I  have  said,  was  a  good  Church  woman,  and  the 
archdeacon  was  the  very  type  of  that  branch  of  the  Church 
which  she  venerated.  The  Grantlys,  too,  were  of  a  good 
family — not  noble  indeed ;  but  in  such  matters  Lady  Luf- 
ton did  not  want  every  thing.  She  was  one  of  those  per- 
sons who,  in  placing  their  hopes  at  a  moderate  pitch,  may 
fairly  trust  to  see  them  realized.  She  would  fain  that  lier 
son's  Avife  should  be  handsome ;  this  she  wished  for  his 
sake,  that  he  might  be  proud  of  his  wife,  and  because  men 
love  to  look  on  beauty.  But  she  was  afraid  of  vivacious 
beauty — of  those  soft,  sparkling  feminine  charms  which  are 
spread  out  as  lures  for  all  the  world — soft  dimples,  laugh- 
ing eyes,  luscious  lips,  conscious  smiles,  and  easy  whispers. 
What  if  her  son  should  bring  her  home  a  rattling,  rapid- 
spoken,  painted  piece  of  Eve's  flesh  such  as  this  ?  Would 
not  the  glory  and  joy  of  her  life  be  over,  even  though  such 
child  of  their  first  mother  should  have  come  forth  to  the 
present  day  ennobled  by  the  blood  of  two  dozen  successive 
British  peers  ? 

And  then,  too,  Griselda's  money  would  not  be  useless. 
Lady  Lufton,  with  all  her  high-flown  ideas,  was  not  an  im- 
prudent woman.  She  knew  that  her  son  had  been  extrav- 
agant, though  she  did  not  believe  that  he  had  been  reck- 
less ;  and  she  was  well  content  to  think  that  some  balsam 
from  the  old  bishop's  coflers  should  be  made  to  cure  the 


FEAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  127 

slight  wounds  which  his  early  imprudence  might  have  in- 
flicted on  the  carcass  of  the  family  property.  And  thus, 
in  this  way,  and  for  these  reasons,  Griselda  Grantly  had 
been  chosen  out  from  all  the  world  to  be  the  future  Lady 
Lufton. 

Lord  Lufton  had  met  Griselda  more  than  once  already  ; 
had  met  her  before  these  high  contracting  j^artics  had  come 
to  any  terms  whatsoever,  and  had  evidently  admired  her. 
Lord  Dumbello  had  remained  silent  one  whole  evening  in 
London  with  ineffable  disgust,  because  Lord  Lufton  had 
been  rather  particular  in  his  attentions ;  but  then  Lord 
Dumbello's  muteness  was  his  most  eloquent  mode  of  ex- 
pression. Both  Lady  Hartletop  and  Mrs.  Grantly,  when 
they  saw  him,  knew  very  well  what  he  meant.  But  that 
match  would  not  exactly  have  suited  Mrs.  Grantly's  views. 
The  Hartletop  people  were  not  in  her  line.  They  belong- 
ed altogether  to  another  set,  being  connected,  as  we  have 
heard  before,  with  the  Omnium  interest — "those  horrid 
Gatherum  people,"  as  Lady  Lufton  would  say  to  her,  rais- 
ing her  hands  and  eyebrows,  and  shaking  her  head.  Lady 
Lufton  probably  thought  that  they  ate  babies  in  pies  dur- 
ing their  midnight  orgies  at  Gatherum  Castle,  and  that,  wid- 
ows were  kept  in  cells,  and  occasionally  put  on  racks  for 
the  amusement  of  the  duke's  guests. 

When  the  Robarts  party  entered  the  drawing-room  the 
Grantlys  were  already  there,  and  the  archdeacon's  voice 
sounded  loud  and  imposing  in  Lucy's  ears,  as  she  heard 
him  speaking  while  she  was  yet  on  the  threshold  of  the 
door. 

"  My  dear  Lady  Lufton,  I  would  believe  any  thing  on 
earth  about  her — any  thing.  Tliere  is  nothing  too  outra- 
geous for  her.  Had  she  insisted  on  going  there  with  the 
bishop's  apron  on,  I  should  not  have  been  surprised."  And 
then  they  all  knew  that  the  archdeacon  was  talking  about 
Mrs.  Proudie,  for  Mrs.  Proudie  was  his  bugbear. 

Lady  Lufton,  after  receiving  her  guests,  introduced  Lucy 
to  Griselda  Grantly.  Miss  Grantly  smiled  graciously,  bow- 
ed slightly,  and  then  remarked  in  the  lowest  voice  possible 
that  it  .was  exceedingly  cold.  A  low  voice,  we  know,  is  an 
excellent  thing  in  woman. 

Lucy,  who  thought  that  she  was  bound  to  speak,  said 
that  it  was  cold,  but  that  she  did  not  mind  it  when  she  was 
walking.     And  then  Griselda  smiled  again,  somewhat  less 


128  FEAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

graciously  than  before,  and  so  the  conversation  ended.  Miss 
Grantly  was  the  elder  of  the  two,  and  having  seen  most  of 
the  world,  should  have  been  the  best  able  to  talk,  but  per- 
haps she  was  not  very  anxious  for  a  conversation  with  Miss 
Robarts. 

"  So,  Robarts,  I  hear  that  you  have  been  jireaching  at 
Chaldicotes,"  said  the  archdeacon,  still  rather  loudly.  "  I 
saw  Sowerby  the  other  day,  and  he  told  me  that  you  gave 
them  the  fag  end  of  Mrs.  Proudie's  lecture." 

"  It  w^as  ill-natured  of  SoAverby  to  say  the  fag  end,"  said 
Robarts.  "We  divided  the  matter  into  thirds.  Harold 
Smith  took  the  first  part,  I  the  last — " 

"  And  the  lady  the  intervening  portion.  You  have  elec- 
trified the  county  between  you  ;  but  I  am  told  that  she  had 
the  best  of  it." 

"I  was  so  sorry  that  Mr.  Robarts  went  there,"  said  Lady 
Lufton,  as  she  walked  into  the  dining-room  leaning  on  the 
archdeacon's  arm. 

"I  am  inclined  to  think  he  could  not  very  well  have  help- 
ed himself,"  said  the  archdeacon,  who  was  never  willing  to 
lean  heavily  on  a  brother  parson,  unless  on  one  who  had 
utterly  and  irrevocably  gone  awny  from  his  side  of  the 
Church. 

"Do  you  think  not,  archdeacon ?" 

"  Why,  no  ;  Sowerby  is  a  friend  of  Lufton's — " 

"  Not  particularly,"  said  poor  Lady  Lufton,  in  a  depre- 
cating tone. 

"  Well,  they  have  been  intimate ;  and  Robarts,  when  he 
Avas  asked  to  preach  at  Chaldicotes,  could  not  well  refuse." 

"  But  then  he  went  afterward  to  Gatherum  Castle.  Not 
that  I  am  vexed  with  him  at  all  now,  you  understand.  But 
it  is  such  a  dangerous  house,  you  know." 

"  So  it  is.  Bui  the  very  fact  of  the  duke's  wishing  to 
have  a  clergyman  there  should  always  be  taken  as  a  sign 
of  grace.  Lady  Lufton.  The  air  was  impure,  no  doubt,  but 
it  was  less  impure  with  Robarts  there  than  it  Avould  have 
been  without  him.  But,  gracious  heavens !  what  blasphemy 
have  I  been  saying  about  impure  air  ?  Why,  the  bishop 
was  there !" 

"  Yes,  the  bishop  was  there,"  said  Lady  Lufton,  and  they 
both  understood  each  other  thoroughly. 

Lord  Lufton  took  out  Mrs.  Grantly  to  dinner,  and  mat- 
ters were  so  managed  that  Miss  Grantly  sat  on  his  other 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  129 

side.  There  was  no  management  apparent  in  this  to  any 
body ;  but  there  she  was,  while  Lucy  was  placed  between 
her  brother  and  Captain  Culpepper.  Captain  Culpepper 
was  a  man  with  an  enormous  mustache,  and  a  great  apti- 
tude for  slaughtering  game ;  but  as  he  had  no  other  char- 
acteristics, it  was  not  probable  that  he  would  make  him- 
self very  agreeable  to  Lucy. 

She  had  seen  Lord  Lufton  once,  for  two  minutes,  since 
tlie  day  of  that  walk,  and  then  he  had  addressed  her  quite 
like  an  old  friend.  It  had  been  in  the  parsonage  drawing- 
room,  and  Fanny  had  been  there.  Fanny  now  was  so  well 
accustomed  to  his  lordship  that  she  thought  but  little  of 
this,  but  to  Lucy  it  had  been  very  pleasant.  He  was  not 
forward  or  familiar,  but  kind,  and  gentle,  and  pleasant,  and 
Lucy  did  feel  that  she  liked  him. 

Now,  on  this  evening,  he  had  hitherto  hardly  spoken  to 
her ;  but  then  she  knew  that  there  were  other  people  in 
the  company  to  whom  he  was  bound  to  speak.  She  was 
not  exactly  humble-minded  in  the  usual  sense  of  the  word, 
but  she  did  recognize  the  fact  that  her  position  was  less 
important  than  that  of  other  people  there,  and  that  there- 
fore it  was  probable  to  a  certain  extent  that  she  would  be 
overlooked.  But  not  the  less  would  she  have  liked  to  oc- 
cupy the  seat  to  which  Miss  Grantly  had  found  her  way. 
She  did  not  want  to  flirt  with  Lord  Lufton ;  she  was  not 
such  a  fool  as  that ;  but  she  would  have  liked  to  have  heard 
the  sound  of  his  voice  close  to  her  ear,  instead  of  that  of 
Captain  Culpepper's  knife  and  fork. 

This  was  the  first  occasion  on  which  she  had  endeavored 
to  dress  herself  with  care  since  her  father  had  died ;  and 
now,  sombre  though  she  was  in  her  deep  mourning,  she 
did  look  very  well. 

"There  is  an  expression  about  her  forehead  that  is  full 
of  poetry,"  Fanny  had  said  to  her  husband. 

"  Don't  you  turn  her  head,  Fanny,  and  make  her  believe 
that  she  is  a  beauty,"  Mark  had  answered. 

"  I  doubt  it  is  not  so  easy  to  turn  her  head,  Mark.  There 
is  more  in  Lucy  than  you  imagine,  and  so  you  will  find  out 
before  long."  It  was  thus  that  Mrs.  Robarts  prophesied 
about  her  sister-in-law.  Had  she  been  asked,  she  might 
perhaps  have  said  that  Lucy's  presence  would  be  danger- 
ous to  the  Grantly  interest  at  Framley  Court. 

Lord -Lufton's  voice  Avas  audible  enousrh  as  he  went  on 
F  2 


130  FEAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

talking  to  Miss  Grantly — his  voice,  but  not  his  words.  He 
talked  in  such  a  way  that  there  was  no  appearance  of  whis- 
pering, and  yet  the  person  to  whom  he  spoke,  and  she  only, 
could  hear  what  he  said.  Mrs.  Grantly  the  while  con- 
versed constantly  with  Lucy's  brother,  who  sat  at  Lucy's 
left  hand.  She  never  lacked  for  subjects  on  which  to 
speak  to  a  country  clergyman  of  the  right  sort,  and  thus 
Griselda  was  left  quite  uninterrupted. 

But  Lucy  could  not  but  observe  that  Griselda  herself 
seemed  to  have  very  little  to  say,  or,  at  any  rate,  to  say 
very  little.  Every  now  and  then  she  did  open  her  mouth, 
and  some  word  or  brace  of  words  would  fall  from  it ;  but, 
for  the  most  part,  she  seemed  to  be  content  in  the  fact  that 
Lord  Lufton  was  paying  her  attention.  She  showed  no 
animation,  but  sat  there  still  and  graceful,  composed  and 
classical,  as  she  always  was.  Lucy,  who  could  not  keep 
her  ears  from  listening  or  her  eyes  from  looking,  thought 
that,  had  she  been  there,  she  would  have  endeavored  to 
take  a  more  prominent  part  in  the  conversation.  But  then 
Griselda  Grantly  probably  knew  much  better  than  Lucy 
did  how  to  comport  herself  in  such  a  situation.  Perhaps 
it  might  be  that  young  men,  such  as  Lord  Lufton,  liked  to 
hear  the  sound  of  their  own  voices. 

"Lnmense  deal  of  game  about  here,"  Captain  Culpep- 
per said  to  her  toward  the  end  of  the  dinner.  It  was  the 
second  attempt  he  had  made ;  on  the  former  he  had  asked 
her  whether  she  knew  any  of  the  fellows  of  the  9th. 

"Is  there?"  said  Lucy.  "Oh!  I  saw  Lord  Lufton  the 
other  day  with  a  great  armful  of  pheasants." 

"  An  armful !  Why,  we  had  seven  cartloads  the  other 
day  at  Gatherum." 

"Seven  carts  full  of  pheasants !"  said  Lucy,  amazed. 

"That's  not  so  much.  We  had  eight  guns,  you  know. 
Eight  guns  will  do  a  deal  of  work  when  the  game  has  been 
well  got  togethei;.  They  manage  all  that  capitally  at 
Gatherum.     Been  at  the  duke's,  eh  ?" 

Lucy  had  heard  the  Framley  report  as  to  Gatherum  Cas- 
tle, and  said  Avith  a  sort  of  shudder  that  she  had  never  been 
at  that  place.  After  this.  Captain  Culpepper  troubled  her 
no  farther. 

When  the  ladies  had  taken  themselves  to  the  drawing- 
room,  Lucy  found  herself  hardly  better  off  than  she  had 
been  at  the  dinner-table.     Ladv  Lufton  and  Mrs.  Grantlv 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  lol 

got  themselves  on  to  a  sofa,  together,  and  there  chatted 
confidentially  into  each  other's  ears.  Her  ladyship  had  in- 
troduced Lucy  and  Miss  Grantly,  and  then  she  naturally 
thought  that  the  young  people  might  do  very  well  togeth- 
er. Mrs.  Robarts  did  attempt  to  bring  about  a  joint  con- 
versation, which  should  include  the  three,  and  for  ten  min- 
utes or  so  she  worked  hard  at  it.  But  it  did  not  thrive. 
Miss  Grantly  was  monosyllabic,  smiling,  however,  at  every 
monosyllable ;  and  Lucy  found  that  notiiing  w^ould  occur 
to  her  at  that  moment  worthy  of  being  spoken.  There 
she  sat,  still  and  motionless,  afraid  to  take  up  a  book,  and 
thinking  in  her  heart  how  much  happier  she  would  have 
been  at  home  at  the  parsonage.  She  was  not  made  for  so- 
ciety, she  felt  sure  of  that ;  and  another  time  she  would 
let  Mark  and  Fanny  come  to  Framley  Court  by  them- 
selves. 

And  then  the  gentlemen  came  in,  and  there  was  another 
stir  in  the  room.  Lady  Lufton  got  up  and  bustled  about ; 
she  poked  the  fire  and  shifted  the  candles,  spoke  a  few 
words  to  Dr.  Grantly,  whispered  something  to  her  son, 
patted  Lucy  on  the  cheek,  told  Fanny,  who  was  a  musi- 
cian, that  they  would  have  a  little  music,  and  ended  by  put- 
ting her  two  hands  on  Griselda's  shoulders,  and  telling  her 
that  the  fit  of  her  frock  was  perfect;  for  Lady  Lufton, 
though  she  did  dress  old  herself,  as  Lucy  had  said,  delight- 
ed to  see  those  around  her  neat  and  pretty,  jaunty  and 
graceful. 

"  Dear  Lady  Lufton  !"  said  Griselda,  putting  up  her  hand 
so  as  to  jDress  the  end  of  her  ladyship's  fingers.  It  was  the 
first  piece  of  animation  she  had  shown,  and  Lucy  Robarts 
watched  it  all. 

And  then  there  was  music.  Lucy  neither  played  nor 
sang ;  Fanny  did  both,  and  for  an  amateur  did  both  well. 
Griselda  did  not  sing,  but  she  played,  and  did  so  in  a  man- 
ner that  showed  that  neither  her  own  labor  nor  her  father's 
money  had  been  spared  in  her  instruction.  Lord  Lufton 
sang  also  a  little,  so  that  they  got  up  a  concert  among  them. 
In  the  mean  time,  the  doctor  and  Mark  stood  talking  to- 
gether on  the  riig  before  the  fire ;  the  two  mothers  sat  con- 
tented, watching  the  billings  and  the  cooings  of  their  off- 
spring— and  Lucy  sat  alone,  turning  over  the  leaves  of  a 
book  of  pictures.  She  made  up  her  mind  fully,  then  and 
there,  that  she  was  quite  unfitted  by  disposition  for  such 


132  FllAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

work  as  this.  She  cared  for  no  one,  and  no  one  cared  for 
her.  Well,  she  must  go  through  with  it  now ;  but  another 
time  she  would  know  better.  With  her  own  book  and  a 
fireside  she  never  felt  herself  to  be  miserable  as  she  was 
now. 

She  had  turned  her  back  to  the  music,  for  she  was  sick 
of  seeing  Lord  Lufton  watch  the  artistic  motion  of  Miss 
Grantly's  fingers,  and  was  sitting  at  a  small  table  as  far 
away  from  the  pfeno  as  a  long  room  would  permit,  when 
she  was  suddenly  roused  from  a  reverie  of  self-reproach  by 
a  voice  close  behind  her :  "  Miss  Robarts,"  said  the  voice, 
"  why  have  you  cut  us  all  ?"  and  Lucy  felt  that  though  she 
heard  the  words  plainly,  nobody  else  did.  Lord  Lufton 
was  now  speaking  to  her  as  he  had  before  spoken  to  Miss 
Grantly. 

"  I  don't  play,  my  lord,"  said  Lucy,  "  nor  yet  sing." 

"That  would  have  made  your  company  so  much  more 
valuable  to  us,  for  we  are  terribly  badly  ofi*  for  listeners. 
Perhaps  you  don't  like  music  ?" 

"  I  do  like  it — sometimes  very  much." 

"And  when  are  the  sometimes?  But  we  shall  find  it 
all  out  in  time.  We  shall  have  unraveled  all  your  mys- 
teries and  read  all  your  riddles  by — when  shall  I  say  ? — 
by  the  end  of  the  winter.     Shall  we  not?" 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  have  got  any  mysteries." 

"  Oh,  but  you  haA^e !  It  is  very  mysterious  in  you  to 
come  and  sit  here,  with  your  back  to  us  all — " 

"  Oh,  Lord  Lufton,  if  I  have  done  wrong — "  and  poor 
Lucy  almost  started  from  her  chair,  and  a  deep  flush  carao 
across  her  dark  cheek. 

"  No,  no,  you  have  done  no  wrong.  I  was  only  joking. 
It  is  we  who  have  done  wrong  in  leaving  you  to  yourself 
— ^you,  who  are  the  greatest  stranger  among  us." 

"  I  have  been  very  well,  thank  you.  I  don't  care  about 
being  left  alone.     I  have  always  been  used  to  it." 

"  Ah !  but  we  must  break  you  of  the  habit.  We  won't 
allow  you  to  make  a  hermit  of  yourself.  But  the  truth  is, 
Miss  Robarts,  you  don't  know  us  yet,  and  therefore  you 
are  not  quite  happy  among  us." 

"  Oh !  yes,  I  am ;  you  are  all  very  good  to  me." 

"You  must  let  us  be  good  to  you.  At  any  rate,  you 
must  let  me  be  so.  You  know,  don't  you,  that  Mark  and 
I  have  been  dear  friends  since  we  were  seven  years  old  ? 


PRAMLEY    PAKSONAGE.  133 

His  wife  has  been  my  sister's  dearest  friend  almost  as  long ; 
and,  now  that  you  are  with  them,  you  must  be  a  dear  friend 
too.     You  won't  refuse  the  offer,  will  you  ?" 

"  Oh  no,"  she  said,  quite  in  a  whisper ;  and,  indeed,  she 
could  hardly  raise  her  voice  above  a  whisper,  fearing  that 
tears  would  fall  from  her  telltale  eyes. 

"Dr.and  Mrs.  Grantly  will  have  gone  in  a  couple  of  days, 
and  then  we  must  get  you  down  here.  Miss  Grantly  is  to 
remain  for  Christmas,  and  you  two  must  become  bosom 
friends." 

Lucy  smiled,  and  tried  to  look  pleased,  but  she  felt  that 
she  and  Griselda  Grantly  could  never  be  bosom  friends — 
could  never  have  any  thing  in  common  between  them.  She 
felt  sure  that  Griselda  despised  her,  little,  brown,  plain,  and 
unimportant  as  she  was.  She  herself  could  not  despise 
Griselda  in  turn ;  indeed,  she  could  not  but  admire  Miss 
Grantly's  great  beauty  and  dignity  of  demeanor,  but  she 
knew  that  she  could  never  love  her.  It  is  hardly  possible 
that  the  proud-hearted  should  love  those  who  despise  them, 
and  Lucy  Robarts  was  very  proud-hearted. 

"  Don't  you  think  she  is  very  handsome  ?"  said  Lord 
Lufton. 

"  Oh,  very,"  said  Lucy.     "  Nobody  can  doubt  that." 

"Ludovic,"  said  Lady  Lufton,  not  quite  approving  of 
her  son's  remaining  so  long  at  the  back  of  Lucy's  chair, 
"  won't  you  give  us  another  song  ?  Mrs.  Robarts  and  Miss 
Grantly  are  still  at  the  piano." 

"I  have  sung  away  all  that  I  knew,  mother.  There's 
Culpepper  has  not  had  a  chance  yet.  He  has  got  to  give 
us  his  dream — how  he  *  dreamed  that  he  dwelt  in  marble 
halls!'" 

"  I  sang  that  an  hour  ago,"  said  the  captain,  not  over 
pleased. 

"  But  you  certainly  have  not  told  us  how  *  your  little 
lovers  came !' " 

The  captain,  however,  would  not  sing  any  more.  And 
then  the  party  was  broken  up,  and  the  Robarts's  went  home 
to  their  parsonage. 


134  FRx\MLEY    PARSONAGE. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    LITTLE    BILL. 

Lucy,  during  those  last  fifteen  minutes  of  her  sojourn  in 
the  Framley  Court  drawing-room,  somewhat  modified  tlie 
very  strong  opinion  she  had  before  formed  as  to  her  unfit- 
ness for  such  society.  It  was  very  pleasant  sitting  there  in 
that  easy  chair,  while  Lord  Lufton  stood  at  the  back  of  it, 
saying  nice,  soft,  good-natured  words  to  her.  She  was  sure 
that  in  a  little  time  she  could  feel  a  true  friendship  for  him, 
and  that  she  could  do  so  without  any  risk  of  falling  in  love 
with  him.  But  then  she  had  a  glimmering  of  an  idea  that 
such  a  friendship  would  be  open  to  all  manner  of  remarks, 
and  would  hardly  be  compatible  with  the  world's  ordinary 
ways.  At  any  rate,  it  would  be  pleasant  to  be  at  Framley 
Court  if  he  would  come  and  occasionally  notice  her;  but 
she  did  not  admit  to  herself  that  such  a  visit  would  be  in- 
tolerable if  his  whole  time  were  devoted  to  Griselda  Grant- 
ly.  She  neither  admitted  it  nor  thought  it ;  but,  never- 
theless, in  a  strange  unconscious  way,  such  a  feeling  did 
find  entrance  in  her  bosom. 

And  then  the  Christmas  holidays  passed  away.  How 
much  of  tliis  enjoyment  fell  to  her  share,  and  how  much  of 
this  suffering  she  endured,  we  will  not  attempt  accurately 
to  describe.  Miss  Grantly  remained  at  Framley  Court  up 
to  Twelfth  Night,  and  the  Robarts's  also  spent  most  of  the 
season  at  the  house.  Lady  Lufton,  no  doubt,  had  hoped 
that  every  thing  might  have  been  arranged  on  this  occa- 
sion in  accordance  with  her  wishes,  but  such  had  not  been 
the  case.  Lord  Lufton  had  evidently  admired  Miss  Grant- 
ly very  much ;  indeed,  he  had  said  so  to  his  mother  half  a 
dozen  times ;  but  it  may  almost  be  questioned  whether  the 
pleasure  Lady  Lufton  derived  from  this  was  not  more  than 
neutralized  by  an  opinion  he  once  put  forward  that  Gri- 
selda Grantly  wanted  some  of  the  fire  of  Lucy  Robarts. 

"  Surely,  Ludovic,  you  would  never  compare  the  two 
girls,"  said  Lady  Lufton. 

"  Of  course  not.  They  are  the  very  antipodes  to  each 
other.    Miss  Grantly  would  probably  be  more  to  my  taste ; 


FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  135 

but  then  I  am  wise  enough  to  know  that  it  is  so  because 
ray  taste  is  a  bad  taste." 

"  I  know  no  man  with  a  more  accurate  or  relined  taste 
in  sucli  matters,"  said  Lady  Lufton.  Beyond  this  she  did 
not  dare  to  go.  She  knew  very  well  that  her  strategy 
would  be  vain  should  her  son  once  learn  that  she  had  a 
strategy.  To  tell  the  truth,  Lady  Lufton  was  becoming 
somewhat  indifterent  to  Lucy  Robarts.  She  had  been  very 
kind  to  the  little  girl,  but  the  little  girl  seemed  hardly  to 
appreciate  the  kindness  as  she  should  do;  and  then  Lord 
Lufton  would  talk  to  Lucy,  "  which  was  so  unnecessary, 
you  know ;"  and  Lucy  had  got  into  a  way  of  talking  quite 
freely  wuth  Lord  Lufton,  having  completely  dropped  that 
short,  spasmodic,  ugly  exclamation  of  "  my  lord." 

And  so  the  Christmas  festivities  Avere  at  an  end,  and 
January  wore  itself  away.  During  the  greater  part  of  this 
month  Lord  Lufton  did  not  remain  at  Framley,  but  was 
nevertheless  in  the  county,  hunting  Avith  the  hounds  of 
both  divisions,  and  staying  at  various  houses.  Two  or 
three  nights  he  spent  at  Chaldicotes,  and  one — let  it  only 
be  told  in  an  under  voice — at  Gatherum  Castle !  Of  this 
he  said  nothing  to  Lady  Lufton.  "Why  make  her  un- 
happy ?"  as  he  said  to  Mark.  But  Lady  Lufton  knew  it, 
though  she  said  not  a  word  to  him — knew  it,  and  was  un- 
happy. "  If  he  would  only  marry  Griselda,  there  would 
be  an  end  of  that  danger,"  she  said  to  herself. 

But  now  we  must  go  back  for  a  while  to  the  vicar  and 
his  little  bilh  It  will  be  remembered  that  his  first  idea 
with  reference  to  that  trouble,  after  the  reading  of  his 
father's  will,  was  to  borrow  the  money  from  his  brother 
John.  John  was  down  at  Exeter  at  the  time,  and  was  to 
stay  one  night  at  the  parsonage  on  his  way  to  London. 
Mark  would  broach  the  matter  to  him  on  the  journey,  pain- 
ful though  it  would  be  to  him  to  tell  the  story  of  his  own 
folly  to  a  brother  so  much  younger  than  himself,  and  who 
had  always  looked  up  to  him,  clergyman  and  full-blown 
vicar  as  he  was,  with  a  deference  greater  than  that  which 
such  difference  in  age  required. 

The  story  was  told,  however,  but  was  told  all  in  vain,  as 
Mark  found  out  before  he  reached  Framley.  His  brother 
John  immediately  declared  that  he  would  lend  him  the 
money,  of  course — eight  hundred  if  his  brother  wanted  it. 
He,  John,  confessed  that,  as  regarded  the  remaining  two. 


1.^6  FKAMLEY    PAKSONAGE. 

he  should  Hke  to  feel  the  pleasure  of  immediate  possession. 
As  for  interest,  he  would  not  take  any — take  interest  from 
a  brother !  of  course  not.  Well,  if  Mark  made  such  a  fuss 
about  it,  he  supposed  he  must  take  it,  but  would  rather 
not.  Mark  should  have  his  own  way,  and  do  just  what  he 
liked. 

This  was  all  very  well,  and  Mark  had  fully  made  up  his 
mind  that  his  brother  should  not  be  kept  long  out  of  his 
money.  But  then  arose  the  question.  How  was  that  money 
to  be  reached  ?  He,  Mark,  was  executor,  or  one  of  the  ex- 
ecutors under  his  father's  will,  and  therefore,  no  doubt, 
could  put  his  hand  upon  it ;  but  his  brother  wanted  five 
months  of  being  of  age,  and  could  not  therefore  as  yet  be 
j)ut  legally  in  possession  of  the  legacy. 

"  That's  a  bore,"  said  the  assistant  private  secretary  to  the 
Lord  Petty  Bag,  thinking,  perhaps,  as  much  of  his  own  im- 
mediate wish  for  ready  cash  as  he  did  of  his  brother's  ne- 
cessities. Mark  felt  that  it  was  a  bore,  but  there  was  noth- 
ing more  to  be  done  in  that  direction.  He  must  now  find 
out  how  fiir  the  bankers  could  assist  him. 

Some  week  or  two  after  his  return  to  Framley  he  went 
over  to  Barchester,  and  called  there  on  a  certain  Mr.  For- 
rest, the  manager  of  one  of  the  banks,  with  whom  he  Avas 
acquainted;  and  with  many  injunctions  as  to  secrecy,  told 
this  manager  the  whole  of  his  story.  At  first  he  concealed 
the  name  of  his  friend  Sowerby,  but  it  soon  appeared  that 
no  such  concealment  was  of  any  avail.  "  That's  Sowerby, 
of  course,"  said  Mr.  Forrest.  "  I  know  you  are  intimate 
with  him,  and  all  his  friends  go  through  that,  sooner  or 
later." 

It  seemed  to  Mark  as  though  Mr.  Forrest  made  very  light 
of  the  whole  transaction. 

"  I  can  not  possibly  pay  the  bill  when  it  falls  due,"  said 
Mark. 

"Oh  no,  of  course  not,"  said  Mr.  Forrest.  "It's  never 
very  convenient  to  hand  out  four  hundred  pounds  at  a  blow. 
Nobody  will  expect  you  to  pay  it." 

"  But  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  do  it  sooner  or  later  ?" 

"  Well,  that's  as  may  be.  It  will  depend  partly  on  how 
you  manage  with  Sowerby,  and  partly  on  the  hands  it  gets 
into.  As  the  bill  has  your  name  on  it,  they'll  have  patience 
as  long  as  the  interest  is  paid,  and  the  commissions  on  re- 
newal. But  no  doubt  it  will  have  to  be  met  some  day  by 
somebody." 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGK.  ISV 

Mr.  Forrest  said  that  he  was  sure  that  the  bill  was  not 
in  Barchester ;  Mr.  Sowerby  would  not,  he  thought,  have 
brought  it  to  a  Barchester  bank.  The  bill  was  probably 
in  London,  but,  doubtless,  would  be  sent  to  Barchester  for 
collection.  "  If  it  comes  in  my  way,"  said  Mr.  Forrest, 
"  I  will  give  you  plenty  of  time,  so  that  you  may  manage 
about  the  renewal  with  Sowerby.  I  suppose  he'll  pay  the 
expense  of  doing  that." 

Mark's  heart  was  somewhat  lighter  as  he  left  the  bank. 
Mr.  Forrest  had  made  so  little  of  the  whole  transaction 
that  he  felt,  himself  justified  in  making  little  of  it  also. 
"  It  may  be  as  Avell,"  said  he  to  himself,  as  he  drove  home, 
"  not  to  tell  Fanny  any  thing  about  it  till  the  three  months 
have  run  round.  I  must  make  some  arrangement  then." 
And  in  this  way  his  mind  was  easier  during  the  last  of 
those  three  months  than  it  had  been  during  the  two  former. 
That  feeling  of  over-due  bills,  of  bills  coming  due,  of  ac- 
counts overdrawn,  of  tradesmen  unpaid,  of  general  money 
cares,  is  very  dreadful  at  first,  but  it  is  astonishing  how 
soon  men  get  used  to  it.  A  load  which  would  crush  a  man 
at  first  becomes,  by  habit,  not  only  endurable,  biH  easy  and 
comfortable  to  the  bearer.  The  habitual  debtor  goes  along 
jaunty  and  with  elastic  step,  almost  enjoying  the  excite- 
ment of  his  embarrassments.  There  was  Mr.  Sowerby 
himself — who  ever  saw  a  cloud  on  his  brow  ?  It  made  one 
almost  in  love  Avith  ruin  to  be  in  his  company.  And  even 
now,  already,  Mark  Robarts  was  thinking  to  himself  quite 
comfortably  about  this  bill — how  very  pleasantly  those 
bankers  managed  these  things.  Pay  it !  No ;  no  one  will 
be  so  unreasonable  as  to  expect  you  to  do  that.  And  then 
Mr.  Sowerby  certainly  was  a  pleasant  fellow,  and  gave  a 
man  something  in  return  for  his  money.  It  was  still  a 
question  with  Mark  Avhether  Lord  Lufton  had  not  been  too 
hard  on  Sowerby.  Had  that  gentleman  fallen  across  his 
clerical  friend  at  the  present  moment,  he  might,  no  doubt, 
have  gotten  from  him  an  acceptance  for  another  four  hund- 
red pounds. 

One  is  almost  inclined  to  believe  that  there  is  something 
pleasurable  in  the  excitement  of  such  embarrassments,  as 
there  is  also  in  the  excitement  of  drink.  But  then,  at  last, 
the  time  does  come  when  the  excitement  is  over,  and  when 
nothing  but  the  misery  is  left.  If  there  be  an  existence  of 
wretchedness  on  earth,  it  mustbe  that  of  tlie  elderlv,  worn- 


138  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

out  rowe,  who  has  run  this  race  of  debt  and  bills  of  accom- 
modation and  accejDtances — of  what,  if  we  were  not  in  these 
days  somewhat  afraid  of  good  broad  English,  we  might 
call  lying  and  swindling,  falsehood  and  fraud — and  who, 
having  ruined  all  whom  he  should  have  loved,  having  burnt 
x[\)  every  one  who  would  trust  him  much,  and  scorched  all 
who  would  trust  him  a  little,  is  at  last  left  to  finish  his  life 
with  such  bread  and  water  as  these  men  get,  without  one 
honest  thought  to  strengthen  his  sinking  heart,  or  one 
honest  friend  to  hold  his  shivering  hand !  If  a  man  could 
only  think  of  that,  as  he  puts  his  name  to  the  first  little  bill, 
as  to  which  he  is  so  good-naturedly  assured  that  it  can 
easily  be  renewed ! 

When  the  three  months  had  nearly  run  out,  it  so  hap- 
pened that  Robarts  met  his  friend  Sowerby.  Mark  had 
once  or  twice  ridden  with  Lord  Lufton  as  far  as  the  meet 
of  the  hounds,  and  may,  perhaps,  have  gone  a  field  or  two 
farther  on  some  occasions.  The  reader  must  not  think  that 
he  had  taken  to  hunting,  as  some  parsons  do ;  and  it  is  sin- 
gular enough  that  whenever  they  do  so  they  always  show 
a  special  aptitude  for  the  pursuit,  as  though  hunting  w^ ere 
an  employment  peculiarly  congenial  with  a  cure  of  souls  in 
the  country.  Such  a  thought  would  do  our  vicar  injustice. 
But  when  Lord  Lufton  would  ask  him  what  on  earth  could 
be  the  harm  of  riding  along  the  roads  to  look  at  the 
hounds,  he  hardly  knew  what  sensible  answer  to  give  his 
lordship.  It  would  be  absurd  to  say  that  his  time  would 
be  better  employed  at  home  in  clerical  matters,  for  it  Avas 
notorious  that  he  had  not  clerical  pursuits  for  the  employ- 
ment of  half  his  time.  In  this  way,  therefore,  he  had  got 
into  a  habit  of  looking  at  the  hounds,  and  keeping  up  his 
acquaintance  in  the  county,  meeting  Lord  Dumbello,  Mr. 
Green  Walker,  Harold  Smith,  and  other  such  like  sinners ; 
and  on  one  such  occasion,  as  the  three  months  were  nearly 
closing,  he  did  meet  Mr.  Sowerby. 

"  Look  here,  Sowerby,  I  want  to  speak  to  you  for  half  a 
moment.     What  are  you  doing  about  that  bill?" 

"  Bill !  bill !  what  bill  ?  which  bill  ?  The  whole  bill,  and 
nothing  but  the  bill.  That  seems  to  be  the  conversation 
nowadays  of  all  men,  morning,  noon,  and  night." 

"Don't  you  know  the  bill  I  signed  for  you  for  four 
hundred  pounds  ?" 

"  Did  yon,  though  ?    Was  not  that  rather  green  of  you  ?" 


FKAMLEY    PAESONAGE.  139 

This  did  seem  strange  to  Mark.  Could  it  really  be  the 
f^ict  that  Mr.  Sowerby  had  so  many  bills  flying  about  that 
he  had  absolutely  forgotten  that  occurrence  in  the  Gatherum 
Castle  bedroom.  And  then  to  be  called  green  by  the  very 
man  whom  he  had  obliged ! 

"  Perhaps  I  was,"  said  Mark,  in  a  tone  that  showed  that 
he  w^as  somewhat  piqued.  "  But  all  the  same,  I  should  be 
glad  to  know  how  it  will  be  taken  uj?." 

"  Oh,  Mark,  what  a  ruffian  you  are  to  spoil  my  day's 
sport  in  this  way.  Any  man  but  a  parson  would  be  too 
good  a  Christian  for  such  intense  cruelty.  But  let  me  see 
— four  hundred  pounds  ?     Oh  yes — ^Tozer  has  it." 

"And  what  will  Tozer  do  with  it  ?" 

"  Make  money  of  it ;  whatever  way  he  may  go  to  work, 
he  will  do  that." 

"  But  w^ill  Tozer  bring  it  to  me  on  the  20th  ?" 

"  Oh  Lord,  no  !  Upon  my  word,  Mark,  you  are  deli- 
ciously  green.  A  cat  would  as  soon  think  of  killing  a 
mouse  directly  she  got  it  into  her  claws.  But,  joking 
ajDart,  you  need  not  trouble  yourself.  Maybe  you  will  hear 
no  more  about  it ;  or,  perhaps,  w'hich  no  doubt  is  more 
probable,  I  may  have  to  send  it  to  you  to  be  renewed;  But 
you  need  do  nothirig  till  you  hear  from  me  or  somebody 
else." 

"  Only  do  not  let  any  one  come  down  upon  me  for  the 
money." 

"  There  is  not  the  slightest  fear  of  that.  Tally-ho,  old 
fellow !  He's  away.  Tally-ho !  right  over  by  Gossetts' 
barn.  Come  along,  and  never  mind  Tozer — *  Sufficient  for 
the  day  is  the  evil  thereof.' "  And  away  they  both  went 
together,  parson  and  member  of  Parliament. 

And  then  again  on  that  occasion  Mark  went  home  with 
a  sort  of  feeling  that  the  bill  did  not  matter.  Tozer  would 
manage  it  somehow ;  and  it  was  quite  clear  that  it  would 
not  do  to  tell  his  wife  of  it  just  at  present. 

On  the  21st  of  that  month  of  February,  however,  he  did 
receive  a  reminder  that  the  bill  and  all  concerning  it  had 
not  merely  been  a  farce.  This  was  a  letter  from  Mr.  Sow- 
erby, dated  from  Chaldicotes,  though  not  bearing  the  Bar- 
Chester  post-mark,  in  wiiich  that  gentleman  suggested  a  re- 
newal— not  exactly  of  the  old  bill,  but  of  a  new  one.  It 
seemed  to  Mark  that  the  letter  had  been  posted  in  London. 
If  I  give  it  entire,  I  shall,  perhaps,  most  quickly  explain  its 
purport : 


140  PKAMLEY   PARSOXAGE. 

"  Chaldicotp:s,  20th  Februaiy,  185- 

*'My  dear  Mark, — 'Lend  not  thy  name  to  the  money-dealers,  for 
the  same  is  a  destruction  and  a  snare.'  If  that  be  not  in  the  Proverbs, 
it  ought  to  be.  Tozer  has  given  me  certain  signs  of  his  being  alive  and 
strong  this  cold  weather.  As  we  can  neither  of  us  take  up  that  bill  for 
£400  at  this  moment,  we  must  renew  it,  and  pay  him  his  commission  and 
interest,  with  all  the  rest  of  his  perquisites,  and  pickings,  and  stealings — 
from  all  which,  I  can  assure  you,  Tozer  does  not  keep  his  hands  as  he 
should  do. 

"To  cover  this  and  some  other  little  outstanding  trifles,  I  have  filled 
in  the  new  bill  for  £500,  making  it  due  23d  of  May  next.  Before  that 
lime,  a  certain  accident  will,  I  trust,  have  occurred  to  your  impoverished 
friend.  By-the-by,  I  never  told  you  how  she  went  off  from  Gatherum 
Castle,  the  morning  after  you  left  us,  with  the  Greshams,  Cart-ropes 
would  not  hold  her,  even  though  the  duke  held  them,  which  he  did  with 
all  the  strength  of  his  ducal  hands.  She  would  go  to  meet  some  doctor 
of  theirs,  and  so  I  was  put  off  for  that  time ;  but  I  think  that  the  matter 
stands  in  a  good  train. 

"Do  not  lose  a  post  in  sending  back  the  bill  accepted,  as  Tozer  may 
annoy  you — nay,  undoubtedly  will,  if  the  matter  be  not  in  his  hand,  duly 
signed  by  both  of  us,  the  day  after  to-morrow.  lie  is  an  ungrateful 
brute ;  he  has  lived  on  me  for  these  eight  years,  and  would  not  let  mo 
off  a  single  squeeze  now  to  save  my  life.  But  I  am  specially  anxious  to 
save  you  from  the  annoyance  and  cost  of  lawyers'  letters ;  and  if  delay- 
ed, it  might  get  into  the  papers. 

"  Put  it  under  cover  to  me,  at  No.  7  Duke  Street,  St.  James's.  I  shall 
be  in  town  by  that  time. 

"Good-by,  old  fellow.  That  was  a  decent  brush  we  had  the  other 
day  from  Cobbold's  Ashes.  I  wish  I  could  get  that  brown  horse  from 
you.     I  would  not  mind  going  to  a  hundred  and  thirty. 

"Yours  ever,  N.  Sovv'krby." 

When  Mark  had  read  it  through,  he  looked  down  on  liis 
table  to  see  whether  the  old  bill  had  fallen  from  the  letter ; 
but  no,  there  was  no  inclosure,  and  had  been  no  inclosure 
but  the  new  bill.  And  then  he  read  the  letter  through 
again,  and  found  that  there  was  no  word  about  the  old 
bill — not  a  syllable,  at  least,  as  to  its  whereabouts.  Sow- 
erby  did  not  even  say  that  it  would  remain  in  his  own 
hands. 

Mark  did  not,  in  truth,  know  much  about  such  things. 
It  might  be  that  the  very  fact  of  his  signing  this  second 
document  would  render  that  first  document  null  and  void ; 
and  from  Sowerby's  silence  on  the  snbject,  it  might  be  ar- 
gued that  this  was  so  well  known  to  be  the  case  that  he 
had  not  thought  of  explaining  it.  But  yet  Mark  could  not 
see  how  this  should  be  so. 

But  what  was  he  to  do  ?  That  threat  of  cost  and  law- 
yers, and  specially  of  the  newspapers,  did  have  its  effect 


FKAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  141 

upon  him — as  no  doubt  it  was  intended  to  do.  And  then 
he  was  utterly  dumbfounded  by  Sowerby's  impudence  in 
drawing  on  him  for  £500  instead  of  £400,  "  covering,"  as 
Sowerby  so  good-humoredly  said,  "  sundry  little  outstand- 
ing trifles." 

But  at  last  he  did  sign  the  bill,  and  sent  it  off,  as  Sower- 
by had  directed.     What  else  was  he  to  do  ? 

Fool  that  he  was.  A  man  always  can  do  right,  even 
though  he  has  done  wrong  before.  But  that  previous 
wrong  adds  so  much  difficulty  to  the  path — a  difficulty 
which  increases  in  tremendous  ratio  till  a  man  at  last  is 
choked  in  his  struggling,  and  is  drowned  beneath  the  wa- 
ters. 

And  then  h<3  put  away  Sowerby's  letter  carefully,  lock- 
ing it  up  from  his  wife's  sight.  It  was  a  letter  that  no  par- 
ish clergyman  should  have  received.  So  much  he  acknowl- 
edged to  himself.  But,  nevertheless,  it  was  necessary  that 
he  should  keep  it.  And  now  again,  for  a  few  hours,  this 
affair  made  him  very  miserable. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

DELICATE     HINTS. 

Lady  Lufton  had  been  greatly  rejoiced  at  that  good 
deed  which  her  son  did  in  giving  up  his  Leicestershire 
hunting,  and  coming  to  reside  for  the  winter  at  Framley. 
It  was  proper,  and  becoming,  and  comfortable  in  the  ex- 
treme. An  English  nobleman  ought  to  hunt  in  the  county 
where  he  himself  owns  the  fields  over  Avhich  he  rides ;  he 
ought  to  receive  the  respect  and  honor  due  to  him  from  his 
own  tenants ;  he  ought  to  sleep  under  a  roof  of  his  own, 
and  he  ought  also — so  Lady  Lufton  thought — to  fall  in  love 
with  a  young  embryo  bride  of  his  own  mother's  choosing. 

And  then  it  was  so  pleasant  to  have  him  there  in  the 
house.  Lady  Lufton  was  not  a  Avoman  who  allowed  her 
life  to  be  what  people  in  common  parlance  call  dull.  She 
had  too  many  duties,  and  thought  too  much  of  them,  to  al- 
low of  her  suffering  from  tedium  and  ouiui.  But,  never- 
theless, the  house  was  more  joyous  to  her  when  he  was 
there.  There  was  a  reason  for  some  little  gayety,  which 
would  never  have  been  attracted  thither  by  herself,  but 
which,  nevertheless,  she  did  enjoy  when  it  was  brought 


142  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

about  by  his  presence.  She  was  younger  and  brighter 
when  he  was  there,  thinking  more  of  the  future  and  less  of 
the  past.  She  could  look  at  him,  and  that  alone  was  hap- 
piness to  her.  And  then  he  was  pleasant-mannered  with 
her;  joking  with  her  on  her  little  old-world  prejudices  in  a 
tone  that  was  musical  to  her  ear  as  coming  from  him;  smil- 
ing on  her,  reminding  her  of  those  smiles  which  she. had 
loved  so  dearly  when  as  yet  he  was  all  her  own,  lying  there 
in  his  little  bed  beside  her  chair.  He  was  kind  and  gracious 
to  her,  behaving  like  a  good  sou,  at  any  rate  while  he  was 
there  in  her  presence.  When  we  add  to  this  her  fears  that 
he  might  not  be  so  perfect  in  his  conduct  when  absent,  we 
may  well  imagine  that  Lady  Lufton  was  pleased  to  have 
him  there  at  Framley  Court. 

She  had  hardly  said  a  word  to  him  as  to  that  five  thou- 
sand pounds.  Many  a  night,  as  she  lay  thinking  on  her  pil- 
low, she  said  to  herself  that  no  money  had  ever  been  better 
expended,  since  it  had  brought  him  back  to  his  own  house. 
He  had  thanked  her  for  it  in  his  own  open  way,  declaring 
that  he  would  pay  it  back  to  her  during  the  coming  year, 
and  comforting  her  heart  by  his  rejoicing  that  the  property 
had  not  been  sold. 

"  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  parting  with  an  acre  of  it,"  he 
had  said. 

"  Of  course  not,  Ludovic.  ISTever  let  the  estate  decrease 
in  your  hands.  It  is  only  by  such  resolutions  as  that  that 
English  noblemen  and  English  gentlemen  can  preserve  their 
country.     I  can  not  bear  to  see  property  changing  hands." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  it's  a  good  thing  to  have  land  in  the 
market  sometimes,  so  that  the  millionaires  may  know  what 
to  do  witli  their  money." 

"  God  forbid  that  yours  should  be  there !"  And  the  wid- 
ow made  a  little  mental  prayer  that  her  son's  acres  might 
be  protected  from  the  millionaires  and  other  Philistines. 

"  Why,  yes,  I  don't  exactly  want  to  see  a  Jew  tailor  in- 
vesting his  earnings  at  Lufton,"  said  the  lord. 
.   "  Heaven  forbid !"  said  the  widow. 

All  this,  as  I  have  said,  was  very  nice.  It  was  manifest 
to  her  ladyship,  from  his  lordship's  Avay  of  talking,  that  no 
vital  injury  had  as  yet  been  done.  He  had  no  cares  on  his 
mind,  and  spoke  freely  about  the  property ;  but,  neverthe- 
less, there  were  clouds  even  now,  at  this  period  of  bliss, 
which  somewhat  obscured  the  brilliancy  of  Ladv  Lufton's 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  143 

sky.  Why  -was  Liidovic  so  slow  in  that  affiiir  of  Giirelda 
Grantly  ?  wliy  so  often,  in  these  latter  winter  clayB,  did  he 
saunter  over  to  the  Parsonage  ?  And  then  that  terrible 
visit  to  Gatherum  Castle ! 

What  actually  did  happen  at  Gatherum  Castle  she  never 
knew.  We,  however,  are  more  intrusive,  less  delicate  in 
our  inquiries,  and  we  can  say.  He  had' a  very  bad  day's 
sport  with  the  West  Barsetshire.  The  county  is  altogeth- 
er short  of  foxes,  and  some  one  who  understands  tJie  mat- 
ter must  take  that  point  up  before  they  can  do  any  good. 
And  after  that  he  had  had  rather  a  dull  dinner  with  the 
duke.  Sowerby  had  been  there,  and  in  the  evening  he  and 
Sowerby  had  played  billiards.  Sowerby  had  won  a  pound 
or  two,  and  that  had  been  the  extent  of  the  damage  done. 

But  those  saunterings  over  to  the  Parsonage  might  be 
more  dangerous — not  that  it  ever  occurred  to  Lady  Lufton 
as  possible  that  her  son  should  fall  in  love  with  Lucy  Rob- 
arts.  Lucy's  personal  attractions  were  not  of  a  nature  to 
give  ground  for  such  a  fear  as  that.  But  he  might  turn 
the  girl's  head  with  his  chatter ;  she  might  be  fool  enough 
to  fancy  any  folly ;  and,  moreover,  people  would  talk.  Why 
should  he  go  to  the  Parsonage  now  more  frequently  than 
he  had  ever  done  before  Lucy  came  there  ? 

And  then  her  ladyship,  in  reference  to  the  same  trouble, 
liardly  knew  how  to  manage  her  invitations  to  the  Parson- 
age. These  hitherto  had  been  very  frequent,  and  she  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  thinking  that  they  could  hardly  be  too 
much  so ;  but  now  she  was  almost  afraid  to  continue  the 
custom.  She  could  not  ask  the  parson  and  his  wife  with- 
out Lucy ;  and  when  Lucy  was  there,  her  son  would  pass 
the  greater  part  of  the  evening  in  talking  to  her,  or  play- 
ing chess  with  her.  N'ow  this  did  disturb  Lady  Lufton 
not  a  little. 

And  then  Lucy  took  it  all  so  quietly.  On  her  lirst  ar- 
rival at  Framley  she  had  been  so  shy,  so  silent,  and  so 
much  awe-struck  by  the  grandeur  of  Framley  Court,  that 
Lady  Lufton  had  sympathized  with  her  and  encouraged, 
her.  She  had  endeavored  to  moderate  the  blaze  of  her  own 
splendor,  in  order  that  Lucy's  unaccustomed  eyes  might 
not  be  dazzled.  But  all  this  was  changed  now.  Lucy 
could  listen  to  the  young  lord's  voice  by  the  liour  together 
without  being  dazzled  in  the  least. 

Under  these  circumstances  two  things  occurred  to  her. 


144  FliAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

She  would  speak  either  to  her  son  or  to  Fanny  Robarts, 
and  by  a  little  diplomacy  have  this  evil  remedied.  And 
then  she  had  to  determine  on  which  step  she  would  take. 

"  Nothing  could  be  more  reasonable  than  Ludovic ;"  so 
at  least  she  said  to  herself  over  and  over  again.  But  then 
Ludovic  understood  nothing  about  such  matters ;  and  he 
had,  moreover,  a  habit,  inherited  from  his  father,  of  taking 
the  bit  between  his  own  teeth  whenever  he  expected  inter- 
ference. Drive  him  gently  without  pulling  his  mouth  about, 
and  you  might  take  him  any  where,  almost  at  any  pace ; 
but  a  smart  touch,  let  it  be  ever  so  slight,  would  bring  him 
on  his  haunches,  and  then  it  might  be  a  question  whether 
you  could  get  him  another  mile  that  day ;  so  that,  on  the 
whole,  Lady  Lufton  thought  that  the  other  plan  would  be 
the  best.     I  have  no  doubt  that  Lady  Lufton  was  right. 

She  got  Fanny  up  into  her  own  den  one  afternoon,  and 
seated  her  discreetly  in  an  easy  arm-chair,  making  her  guest 
take  off  her  bonnet,  and  showing  by  various  signs  that  the 
visit  was  regarded  as  one  of  great  moment. 

"Fanny,"  she  said,  "  I  want  to  spe^k  to  you  about  some- 
thing that  is  important  and  necessary  to  mention,  and  yet 
it  is  a  very  delicate  affair  to  speak  of"  Fanny  opened  her 
eyes,  and  said  that  she  hoped  that  nothing  was  Avrong. 

"  No,  my  dear,  I  think  nothing  is  wrong ;  I  hope  so,  and 
I  think  I  may  say  I'm  sure  of  it ;  but  then  it's  always  well 
to  be  on  one's  guard." 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  said  Fanny,  who  knew  that  something  un- 
pleasant was  coming — something  as  to  which  she  might 
probably  be  called  upon  to  differ  from  her  ladyship.  Mrs. 
Robarts'  own  fears,  however,  were  running  entirely  in  the 
direction  of  her  husband ;  and,  indeed.  Lady  Lufton  had  a 
word  or  two  to  say  on  that  subject  also,  only  not  exactly 
now.  A  hunting  parson  Avas  not  at  all  to  her  taste ;  but 
that  matter  might  be  alloAved  to  remain  in  abeyance  for  a 
few  days. 

"  Now,  Fanny,  you  know  that  Ave  have  all  liked  your  sis- 
ter-in-laAV,  Lucy,  A^ery  much."  And  then  Mrs.  Robarts' 
mind  Avas  immediately  opened,  and  she  kncAV  the  rest  as 
Avell  as  though  it  had  all  been  spoken.  "  I  need  hardly  tell 
you  that,  for  I  am  sure  Ave  have  shoAvn  it." 

"  You  haA*e,  indeed,  as  you  ahvays  do." 

"  And  you  must  not  think  that  I  am  going  to  complain," 
continued  Lady  Lufton. 


FRAMLEY    PAKSONAGE.  145 

**I  hope  there  is  nothing  to  complain  of,"  said  Fanny, 
speaking  by  no  means  in  a  defiant  tone,  but  humbly  as  it 
were,  and  deprecating  her  ladyship's  wrath.  Fanny  had 
gained  one  signal  victory  over  Lady  Lufton,  and  on  that 
account,  with  a  prudence  equal  to  her  generosity,  felt  that 
she  could  aftbrd  to  be  submissive.  It  might,  perhaps,  not 
be  long  before  she  would  be  equally  anxious  to  conquer 
again. 

"  Well,  no,  I  don't  think  there  is,"  said  Lady  Lufton ; 
"  nothing  to  complain  of;  but  a  little  chat  between  you  and 
me  may,  perhaps,  set  matters  right,  which,  otherwise,  might 
become  troublesome." 

*'  Is  it  about  Lucy  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  about  Lucy.  She  is  a  very  nice,  good 
girl,  and  a  credit  to  her  father — " 

"  And  a  great  comfort  to  us,"  said  Fanny. 

"I  am  sure  she  is :  she  must  be  a  very  pleasant  compan- 
ion to  you,  and  so  useful  about  the  children  ;  but — "  And 
then  Lady  Lufton  paused  for  a  moment ;  for  she,  eloquent 
and  discreet  as  she  always  was,  felt  herself  rather  at  a  loss 
for  words  to  express  her  exact  meaning. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do  without  her,"  said  Fan- 
ny, speaking  with  the  object  of  assisting  her  ladyship  in  her 
embarrassment. 

"  But  the  truth  is  this  :  she  and  Lord  Lufton  are  getting 
into  the  way  -of  being  too  much  together — of  talking  to 
each  other  too  exclusively.  I  am  sure  you  must  have  no- 
ticed it,  Fanny.  It  is  not  that  I  suspect  any  evil.  I  don't 
think  that  I  am  suspicious  by  nature." 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Fanny. 

"  But  they  will  each  of  them  get  wrong  ideas  about  the 
other  and  about  themselves.  Lucy  will,  perhaps,  think 
that  Ludovic  means  more  than  he  does,  and  Ludovic  will — " 
But  it  was  not  quite  so  easy  to  say  what  Ludovic  might 
do  or  think ;  but  Lady  Lufton  went  on : 

"  I  am  sure  that  you  understand  me,  Fanny,  with  your 
excellent  sense  and  tact.  Lucy  is  clever,  and  amusing,  and 
all  that ;  and  Ludovic,  like  all  young  men,  is  perhaps  igno- 
rant that  his  attentions  may  be  taken  to  mean  more  than 
he  intends — " 

"  You  don't  think  that  Lucy  is  in  love  with  him  ?" 

"  Oh  dear,  no — nothing  of  the  kind.  If  I  thought  it 
had  come  to  that,  I  should  recommend  that  she  should  be 

G 


146  FBAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

sent  away  altogether.  I  am  sure  she  is  not  so  foolish  as 
that." 

"Ldon't  think  there  is  any  thing  in  it  at  all,  Lady  Luf- 
ton." 

"  I  don't  think  there  is,  my  dear,  and  therefore  I  would 
not  for  worlds  make  any  suggestion  about  it  to  Lord  Luf- 
ton.  I  would  not  let  him  suppose  that  I  suspected  Lucy 
of  being  so  imprudent.  But  still,  it  may  be  Avell  that  you 
should  just  say  a  word  to  her.  A  little  management  noM' 
and  then,  in  such  matters,  is  so  useful." 

"  But  what  shall  I  say  to  her  ?" 

"  Just  explain  to  her  that  any  young  lady  who  talks  so 
much  to  the  same  young  gentleman  will  certainly  be  ob- 
served— that  people  will  accuse  her  of  setting  her  cap  at 
Lord  Lufton.  Not  that  I  suspect  her;  I  give  her  credit 
for  too  much  proper  feeling;  I  know  her  education  has 
been  good,  and  her  principles  upright.  But  people  will 
talk  of  her.  You  must  understand  that,  Fanny,  as  well  as 
I  do." 

Fanny  could  not  help  meditating  whether  proper  feeling, 
education,  and  upright  principles  did  forbid  Lucy  Robarts 
to  fall  in  love  with  Lord  Lufton ;  but  her  doubts  on  this 
subject,  if  she  held  any,  were  not  communicated  to  her 
ladyship.  It  had  never  entered  into  her  mind  that  a  match 
was  possible  between  Lord  Lufton  and  Lucy  Robarts,  nor 
had  she  the  slightest  wish  to  encourage  it  now  that  the 
idea  was  suggested  to  her.  On  such  a  matter  she  could 
sympathize  with  Lady  Lufton,  though  she  did  not  complete- 
ly agree  with  her  as  to  the  expediency  of  any  interference. 
Nevertheless,  she  at  once  offered  to  speak  to  Lucy. 

"  I  don't  think  that  Lucy  has  any  idea  in  her  head  uj^on 
the  subject,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts. 

"  I  dare  say  not — I  don't  suppose  she  has.  But  young 
ladies  sometimes  allow  themselves  to  fall  in  love,  and  then 
to  think  themselves  very  ill  used  just  because  they  have 
had  no  idea  in  their  head." 

"I  will  put  her  on  her  guard,  if  you  wish  it, Lady  Luf- 
ton." 

"Exactly,  my  dear;  that  is  just  it.  Put  her  on  her 
guard — that  is  all  that  is  necessary.  She  is  a  dear,  good, 
clever  girl,  and  it  would  be  very  sad  if  any  thing  were  to 
interrupt  our  comfortable  way  of  getting  on  with  her." 

Mrs.  Robarts  knew  to  a  nicety  the  exact  meaning  of  this 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  J  47 

threat.  If  Lucy  would  persist  in  securing  to  herself  so 
much  of  Lord  Lutton's  time  and  attention,  her  visits  to 
Framley  Court  must  become  less  frequent.  Lady  Lufton 
would  do  much,  very  much,  indeed,  for  her  friends  at  the 
Parsonage,  but  not  even  for  them  could  she  permit  her  son's 
prospects  in  life  to  be  endangered. 

There  was  nothing  more  said  between  them,  and  Mrs. 
Robarts  got  up  to  take  her  leave,  having  promised  to  speak 
to  Lucy. 

"  You  manage  every  thing  so  perfectly,"  said  Lady  Luf- 
ton,  as  she  pressed  Mrs.  Robarts'  hand,  "  that  I  am  quite  at 
ease  now  that  I  find  you  will  agree  with  me."  Mrs.  Rob- 
arts did  not  exactly  agree  with  her  ladyshij:),  but  she  hard- 
ly thought  it  worth  her  while  to  say  so. 

Mrs.  Robarts  immediately  started  off  on  her  walk  to  her 
own  home,  and  when  she  had  got  out  of  the  grounds  into 
the  road,  where  it  makes  a  turn  toward  the  Parsonage, 
nearly  opposite  to  Podgens'  shop,  she  saw  Lord  Lufton  on 
horseback,  and  Lucy  standing  beside  him.  It  was  already 
nearly  five  o'clock,  and  it  was  getting  dusk ;  but  as  she  ap- 
proached, or  rather  as  she  came  suddenly  within  sight  of 
them,  she  could  see  that  they  were  in  close  conversation. 
Lord  Lufton's  face  was  toward  her,  and  his  horse  was 
standing  still ;  he  was  leaning  over  toward  his  companion, 
and  the  whip,  which  he  held  in  his  right  hand,  hung  almost 
over  her  arm  and  down  her  back,  as  though  his  hand  had 
touched  and  perhaps  rested  on  her  shoulder.  She  was 
standing  by  his  side,  looking  up  into  his  face,  with  one 
rrl<^ved  hand  resting  on  the  horse's  neck.  Mrs.  Robarts,  as 
f^hc  saw  them,  could  not  but  own  that  there  might  be  cause 
for  Lady  Lufton's  fears. 

But  then  Lucy's  manner,  as  Mrs.  Robarts  approached, 
was  calculated  to  dissipate  any  such  fears,  and  to  prove 
that  there  was  no  ground  for  them.  She  did  not  move 
from  her  position,  or  allow  her  hand  to  drop,  or  show  that 
she  was  in  any  way  either  confused  or  conscious.  She 
stood  her  ground,  and  Avhen  her  sister-in-law  came  up,  was 
smiling  and  at  her  ease. 

"  Lord  Lufton  w^ants  me  to  learn  to  lide,"  said  she. 

"To  learn  to  ride!"  said  Fanny,  not  knowing  what  an- 
swer to  make  to  such  a  proposition. 

"Yes,"  said  he.  "This  horse  would  carry  her  beauti- 
fully :  he  is  as  quiet  as  a  lamb,  and  I  made  Gregory  go  out 


148  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

with  him  yesterday  with  a  sheet  hanging  over  him  like  a 
lady's  habit,  and  the  man  got  up  into  a  lady's  saddle." 

"  I  think  Gregory  would  make  a  better  hand  of  it  than 
Lucy." 

"  The  horse  cantered  with  him  as  though  he  had  carried 
a  lady  all  his  life,  and  his  mouth  is  hke  velvet — indeed,  that 
is  his  fault ;  he  is  too  soft-mouthed." 

*'  I  suppose  that's  the  same  sort  of  thing  as  a  man  being 
soft-hearted,"  said  Lucy. 

"  Exactly ;  you  ought  to  ride  them  both  with  a  very  light 
hand.  They  are  difficult  cattle  to  manage,  but  very  pleas- 
ant when  you  know  how  to  do  it." 

"  But  you  see  I  don't  know  how  to  do  it,"  said  Lucy. 

"  As  regards  the  horse,  you  will  learn  in  two  days,  and  I 
do  hope  you  will  try.  Don't  you  think  it  will  be  an  ex- 
cellent thing  for  her,  Mrs.  Robarts  ?" 

"  Lucy  has  got  no  habit,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts,  making  use 
of  the  excuse  common  on  all  such  occasions. 

"  There  is  one  of  Justinia's  in  the  house,  I  know.  She 
always  leaves  one  here,  in  order  that  she  may  be  able  to 
ride  when  she  comes." 

"  She  would  not  think  of  taking  such  a  liberty  with  Lady 
Meredith's  things,"  said  Fanny,  almost  frightened  at  the 
proposal. 

"  Of  course  it  is  out  of  the  question,  Fanny,"  said  Lucy, 
now  speaking  rather  seriously.  "  In  the  first  place,  I  would 
not  take  Lord  Lufton's  horse ;  in  the  second  place,  I  would 
not  take  Lady  Meredith's  habit ;  in  the  third  place,!  should 
be  a  great  deal  too  much  frightened ;  and,  lastly,  it  is  quite 
out  of  the  question  for  a  great  many  other  very  good  rea- 
sons." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Lord  Lufton. 

"A  great  deal  of  nonsense,"  said  Lucy,  laughing,  "but 
all  of  it  of  Lord  Lufton's  talking.  But  we  are  getting  cold 
— are  we  not,  Fanny? — so  we  will  wish  you  good-night." 
And  then  the  two  ladies  shook  hands  with  him,  and  walked 
on  toward  the  Parsonage. 

That  which  astonished  Mrs.  Robarts  the  most  in  all  this 
was  the  perfectly  collected  manner  in  which  Lucy  spoke 
and  conducted  herself.  This,  connected,  as  she  could  not 
but  connect  it,  with  the  air  of  chagrin  with  which  Lord 
Lufton  received  Lucy's  decision,  made  it  manifest  to  Mrs. 
Robarts  that  Lord  Lufton  was  annoyed  because  Lucy  would 


FllAMLEY    PARSOXAGE.  149 

not  consent  to  learn  to  ride;  whereas  slie,  Lucy  herself,  had 
given  her  refusal  in  a  firm  and  decided  tone,  as  though  re- 
solved that  nothing  more  should  be  said  about  it. 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  minute  or  two  till  they 
reached  the  Parsonage  gate,  and  then  Lucy  said,  laughing, 
"  Can't  you  fancy  me  sitting  on  that  great  big  horse  ?  I 
wonder  what  Lady  Lufton  would  say  if  she  saw  me  there, 
and  his  lordship  giving  me  my  first  lesson  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  she  would  like  it,"  said  Fanny. 

"  I'm  sure  she  would  not.  But  I  will  not  try  her  temper 
in  that  respect.  Sometimes  I  fancy  that  she  does  not  even 
like  seeing  Lord  Lufton  talking  to  me." 

"  She  does  not  like  it,  Lucy,  when  she  sees  him  flirting 
with  you." 

This  Mrs.  Robarts  said  rather  gravely,  whereas  Lucy 
had  been  speaking  in  a  half-bantering  tone.  As  soon  as 
even  the  word  flirting  was  out  of  Fanny's  mouth,  she  was 
conscious  that  she  had  been  guilty  of  an  injustice  in  using 
it.  She  had  wished  to  say  something  that  would  convey 
to  her  sister-in-law  an  idea  of  what  Lady  Lufton  would  dis- 
like, but  in  doing  so  she  had  unintentionally  brought  against 
her  an  accusation. 

"  Flirting,  Fanny  !"  said  Lucy,  standing  still  in  the  path, 
and  looking  up  into  her  companion's  face  with  all  her  eyes. 
"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  have  been  flirting  with  Lord 
Lufton  ?" 

"  I  did  not  say  that." 

"  Or  that  I  have  allowed  him  to  flirt  with  me?" 

"I  did  not  mean  to  shock  you,  Lucy." 

"  What  did  you  mean,  Fanny  ?" 

"  Why,  just  this :  that  Lady  Lufton  would  not  be  pleased 
if  he  paid  you  marked  attentions,  and  if  you  leceived 
them — just  like  that  aflfair  of  the  riding;  it  was  better  to 
decline  it." 

"  Of  course  I  declined  it — of  course  I  never  dreamed  of 
accepting  such  an  ofler.  Go  riding  about  the  country  on 
his  horses !  What  have  I  done,  Fanny,  that  you  should 
suppose  such  a  thing  ?" 

"  You  have  done  nothing,  dearest." 

*'  Then  why  did  you  speak  as  you  did  just  now  ?" 

"Because  I  wished  to  put  you  on  your  guard.  You 
know,  Lucy,  that  I  do  not  intend  to  find  fault  with  you ; 
but  you  may  be  sure,  as  a  rule,  that  intimate  friendships 


150  FEAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

between  young  gentlemen  and  young  ladies  are  dangerous 
things." 

They  then  walked  up  to  the  hall  door  in  silence.  When 
they  had  reached  it,  Lucy  stood  in  the  doorway  instead  of 
entering  it,  and  said,  "  Fanny,  let  us  take  another  turn  to- 
gether, if  you  are  not  tired." 

"  No,  I'm  not  tired." 

"  It  will  be  better  that  I  should  understand  you  at  once;" 
and  then  they  again  moved  away  from  the  house.  "  Tell 
me  truly  now,  do  you  think  that  Lord  Lufton  and  I  have 
been  flirting  ?" 

"  I  do  think  that  he  is  a  little  inclined  to  flirt  with  you." 

"  And  Lady  Lufton  has  been  asking  you  to  lecture  me 
about  it  ?" 

Poor  Mrs.  Robarts  hardly  knew  what  to  say.  She  thought 
well  of  all  the  persons  concerned,  and  was  very  anxious  to 
behave  well  by  all  of  them — was  particularly  anxious  to 
create  no  ill  feeling,  and  wished  that  every  body  should  be 
comfortable,  and  on  good  terms  with  every  body  else.  But 
yet  the  truth  was  forced  out  of  her  when  this  question  was 
asked  so  suddenly. 

"  Not  to  lecture  you,  Lucy,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  Well,  to  preach  to  me,  or  to  talk  to  me,  or  to  give  me 
a  lesson — to  say  something  that  shall  drive  me  to  put  my 
back  up  against  Lord  Lufton  ?" 

"To  caution  you,  dearest.  Had  you  heard  w^hat  she 
said,  you  would  hardly  have  felt  angry  with  Lady  Lufton." 

"  Well,  to  caution  me.  It  is  such  a  pleasant  thing  for  a 
girl  to  be  cautioned  against  falling  in  love  with  a  gentle- 
man, especially  when  the  gentleman  is  very  rich,  and  a  lord, 
nnd  all  that  sort  of  thing!" 

"  Nobody  for  a  moment  attributes  any  thing,  wrong  to 
you,  Lucy." 

"  Any  thing  wrong — no.  I  don't  know  whether  it  would 
be  any  thing  wrong,  even  if  I  were  to  fall  in  love  Avith  him. 
I  wonder  whether  they  cautioned  Griselda  Grantly  when 
she  was  here  ?  I  suppose,  when  young  lords  go  about,  all 
the  girls  are  cautioned  as  a  matter  of  course.  Why  do 
they  not  label  him  '  dangerous  ?'  "  And  then  again  they 
were  silent  for  a  moment,  as  Mrs.  Robarts  did  not  feel  that 
she  had  any  thing  farther  to  say  on  the  matter.- 

" '  Poison'  should  be  the  word  with  any  one  so  fatal  as 
Lord  Lufton ;  and  he  ought  to  be  made  up  of  some  par- 


FKAitLEY    PARSONAGE.  151 

ticular  color,  for  fear  he   should  be   swallowed  in  mis- 
take." 

"  You  will  be  safe,  you  see,"  said  Fauny,  laughing,  "  as 
you  have  been  specially  cautioned  as  to  this  individual 
bottle." 

"  Ah !  but  what's  the  use  of  that  after  I  have  had  so 
many  doses  ?  It  is  no  good  telling  me  about  it  now,  when 
the  mischief  is  done — after  I  have  been  taking  it  for  I  don't 
know  how  long.  Dear !  dear !  dear !  and  I  regarded  it  as 
a  mere  commonplace  powder,  good  for  the  complexion.  I 
wonder  whether  it's  too  late,  or  whether  there's  any  anti- 
dote?" 

Mrs.  Robarts  did  not  always  quite  understand  her  sister- 
in-law,  and  now  she  was  a  little  at  a  loss.  "  I  don't  think 
there's  much  harm  done  yet  on  either  side,"  she  said, 
cheerily. 

"  Ah  !  you  don't  know,  Fanny.  But  I  do  think  that  if 
I  die — as  I  shall — I  feel  I  shall — and  if  so,  I  do  think  it 
ought  to  go  very  hard  with  Lady  Lufton.  Why  didn't  she 
label  him  '  dangerous'  in  time  ?"  and  then  they  went  into 
the  house  and  up  to  their  own  rooms. 

It  was  difficult  for  any  one  to  understand  Lucy's  state  of 
mind  at  present,  and  it  can  hardly  be  said  that  she  under- 
stood it  herself.  She  felt  that  she  had  received  a  severe 
blow  in  having  been  thus  made  the  subject  of  remark  with 
reference  to  Lord  Lufton.  She  knew  that  her  pleasant 
evenings  at  Lufton  Court  were  now  over,  and  that  she 
could  not  again  talk  to  him  in  an  unrestrained  tone  and 
without  embarrassment.  She  had  felt  the  air  of  the  whole 
place  to  be  very  cold  before  her  intimacy  with  him,  and 
now  it  must  be  cold  again.  Two  homes  had  been  open  to 
her,  Framley  Court  and  the  Parsonage ;  and  now,  as  far 
as  comfort  was  concerned,  she  must  confine  herself  to  the 
latter.  She  could  hot  be  again  comfortable  in  Lady  Luf-  * 
ton's  drawing-room. 

But  then  she  could  not  help  asking  herself  whether  Lady 
Lufton  was  not  right.  She  had  had  courage  enough,  and 
presence  of  mind,  to  joke  about  the  matter  when  her  sister- 
in-law  spoke  to  her,  and  yet  she  was  quite  aware  that  it  was 
no  joking  matter.  Lord  Lufton  had  not  absolutely  made 
love  to  her,  but  he  had  latterly  spoken  to  her  in  a  manner 
which  she  knew  was  not  compatible  with  that  ordinary 
comfortable  masculine  friendship  with  the  idea  of  whicli 


152  FEAMLEY    PAKSONAGE. 

she  had  once  satisfied  herself.  Was  not  Fanny  right  when 
she  said  that  intimate  friendshijis  of  tliat  riature  were  dan- 
gerous things  ? 

Yes,  Lucy,  very  dangerous.  Lucy,  before  she  went  to 
bed  that  night,  had  owned  to  herself  that  they  were  so ; 
and  lying  there  with  sleepless  eyes  and  a  moist  pillow,  she 
was  driven  to  confess  that  the  label  would  in  truth  be  now 
too  late,  that  the  caution  had  come  to  her  after  the  poison 
had  been  sw^allowed.  Was  there  any  antidote  ?  That  was 
all  that  was  left  for  her  to  consider.  But,  nevertheless,  on 
the  following  morning  she  could  appear  quite  at  her  ease. 
And  when  Mark  had  left  the  house  after  breakfast,  she 
could  still  joke  with  Fanny  about  Lady  Lufton^s  poison 
cupboard. 


CHAPTER  Xiy. 

MR.  CRAWLEY    OF    IIOGGLESTOCK. 

And  then  there  was  that  other  trouble  in  Lady  Lufton's 
mind — the  sins,  namely,  of  her  selected  parson.  She  had 
selected  him,  and  she  was  by  no  means  inclined  to  give 
him  up,  even  though  his  sins  against  parsondom  were  griev- 
ous. Indeed,  she  w^as  a  woman  not  prone  to  give  up  any 
thing,  and  of  all  things  not  prone  to  give  up  a  ^wotege. 
The  very  fact  that  she  herself  had  selected  him  Avas  Ihe 
strongest  argument  in  his  favor. 

But  his  sins  against  parsondom  were  becoming  very 
grievous  in  her  eyes,  and  she  was  at  a  loss  to  know  w  hat 
steps  to  take.  She  hardly  dared  to  take  him  to  task — him 
himself.  Were  she  to  do  so,  and  should  he  then  tell  her  to 
mind  her  own  business — as  he  probably  might  do,  thougli 
not  in  those  words — there  w^ould  be  a  schism  in  the  parish ; 
and  almost  any  thing  w^ould  be  better  than  that.  The 
whole  work  of  her  life  w^ould  be  upset ;  all  the  outlets  of 
her  energy  w^ould  be  impeded,  if  not  absolutely  closed,  if  a 
state  of  things  were  to  come  to  pass  in  w^hich  she  and  the 
parson  of  her  parish  should  not  be  on  good  terms. 

But  what  was  to  be  done  ?  Early  in  the  winter  he  had 
gone  to  Chaldicotes  and  to  Gatherum  Castle,  consorting 
with  gamblers,  Whigs,  atheists,  men  of  loose  pleasure,  and 
Proudieites.  That  she  had  condoned ;  and  now  he  was 
turning  out  a  hunting  parson  on  her  hands.     It  was  all 


PRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  153 

very  well  for  Fanny  to  say  that  he  merely  looked  at  the 
hounds  as  he  rode  about  his  parish.  Fanny  might  be  de- 
ceived. Being  his  wife,  it  might  be  her  duty  not  to  see 
her  husband's  iniquities.  But  Lady  Lufton  could  not  be 
deceived.  She  knew  very  well  in  what  part  of  the  county 
Cobbold's  Ashes  lay.  It  was  not  in  Framley  parish,  nor  in 
the  next  parish  to  it.  It  was  halfway  across  to  Chaldicotes 
— in  the  western  division  ;  and  she  had  heard  of  that  run 
in  which  two  horses  had  been  killed,  and  in  which  Parson 
Robarts  had  won  such  immortal  glory  among  West  Bar- 
setshire  sportsmen.  It  was  not  easy  to  keep  Lady  Lufton 
in  the  dark  as  to  matters  occurring  in  her  own  county. 

All  these  things  she  knew,  but  as  yet  had  not  noticed, 
grieving  over  them  in  her  own  heart  the  more  on  that  ac- 
count. Spoken  grief  relieves  itself;  and  when  one  can  give 
counsel,  one  always  hopes  at  least  that  that  counsel  will  be 
effective.  To  her  son  she  had  said,  more  than  once,  that  it 
was  a  pity  that  Mr.  Robarts  should  follow  the  hounds. 
"  The  world  has  agreed  that  it  is  unbecoming  in  a  clergy- 
man," she  would  urge,  in  her  deprecatory  tone.  But  her 
son  would  by  no  means  give  her  any  comfort.  "  He  doesn't 
hunt,  you  know — not  as  I  do,"  he  would  say.  "  And  if  he 
did,  I  really  don't  see  the  harm  of  it.  A  man  must  have 
some  amusement,  even  if  he  be  an  archbishop."  "  He  has 
amusement  at  home,"  Lady  Lufton  would  answer.  "  What 
does  his  wife  do — and  his  sister  ?"  This  allusion  to  Lucy, 
however,  was  very  soon  dropped. 

Lord  Lufton  would  in  no  wise  help  her.  He  would  not 
even  passively  discourage  the  vicar,  or  refrain  from  offering 
to  give  him  a  seat  in  going  to  the  meets.  Mark  and  Lord 
Lufton  had  been  boys  together,  and  his  lordship  knew  that 
Mark  in  his  heart  would  enjoy  a  brush  across  the  country 
quite  as  well  as  he  himself;  and  then,  what  was  the  harm 
ofit? 

Lady  Lufton's  best  aid  had  been  in  Mark's  own  con- 
science. He  had  taken  himself  to  task  more  than  once, 
and  had  promised  himself  that  he  Avould  not  become  a 
sporting  parson.  Indeed,  where  would  be  his  hopes  of  ul- 
terior promotion  if  he  allowed  himself  to  degenerate  so  far 
as  that?  It  had  been  his  intention,  in  reviewing  what  he 
considered  to  be  the  necessary  proprieties  of  clerical  life, 
in  laying  out  his  own  future  mode  of  living,  to  assume  no 
peculiar  sacerdotal  strictness ;  he  would  not  be  known  as  a 

G  2 


154  FBAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

denouncer  of  dancing  or  of  card-tables,  of  theatres  or  of 
novel-reading ;  he  would  take  the  world  around  him  as  he 
found  it,  endeavoring  by  j^recept  and  practice  to  lend  a 
hand  to  the  gradual  amelioration  which  Christianity  is  pro- 
ducing ;  but  he  would  attempt  no  sudden  or  majestic  re- 
forms. Cake  and  ale  would  still  be  popular,  and  ginger  be 
hot  in  the  mouth,  let  him  preach  ever  so — let  him  be  never 
so  solemn  a  hermit ;  but  a  bright  face,  a  true  trusting  heart, 
a  strong  arm,  and  a  humble  mind,  might  do  much  in  teach- 
ing those  around  him  that  men  may  be  gay  and  yet  not 
profligate,  that  women  may  be  devout  and  yet  not  dead  to 
the  world. 

Such  had  been  his  ideas  as  to  his  own  future  life ;  and 
though  many  will  think  that  as  a  clergyman  he  should  have 
gone  about  his  work  with  more  serious  devotion  of  thought, 
nevertheless  there  was  some  wisdom  in  them — some  folly 
also,  undoubtedly,  as  appeared  by  the  troubles  into  which 
they  led  him. 

"I  will  not  afl:ect  to  think  that  to  be  bad,"  said  he  to 
himself,  "  which  in  my  heart  of  hearts  does  not  seem  to  be 
bad."  And  thus  he  resolved  that  he  might  live  without 
contamination  among  hunting  squires.  And  then,  being  a 
man  only  too  prone  by  nature  to  do  as  others  did  around 
him,  he  found,  by  degrees,  that  that  could  hardly  be  wrong 
for  him  which  he  admitted  to  be  right  for  others. 

But  still  his  conscience  upbraided  him,  and  he  "declared 
to  himself  more  than  once  that  after  this  year  he  would 
hunt  no  more.  And  then  his  own  Fanny  would  look  at 
him  on  his  return  home  on  those  days  in  a  manner  that  cut 
him  to  the  heart.  She  would  say  nothing  to  him.  She 
never  inquired  in  a  sneering  tone,  and  with  angry  eyes, 
whether  he  had  enjoyed  his  day's  sport;  but  when  he 
spoke  of  it,  she  could  not  answer  him  with  enthusiasm ; 
and  in  other  matters  which  concerned  him  she  was  always 
enthusiastic. 

After  a  while,  too,  he  made  matters  worse,  for  about  the 
end  of  March  he  did  another  very  foolish  thing.  He  al- 
most consented  to  buy  an  expensive  horse  from  Sowerby — 
an  animal  which  he  by  no  means  wanted,  and  which,  if 
once  possessed,  would  certainly  lead  him  into  farther 
trouble.  A  gentleman,  when  he  has  a  good  horse  in  his 
stable,  does  not  like  to  leave  him  there  eating  his  head  off. 
Jf  he  be  a  gig-horse,  the  owner  of  him  will  be  keen  to  drive 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  155 

a  gig;  if  a  hunter,  the  happy  possessor  will  wish  to  be 
with  a  pack  of  hounds. 

"  Mark,"  said  Sowerby  to  him  one  day,  when  they  were 
out  together,  "  this  brute  of  mine  is  so  fresh,  I  can  hardly 
ride  him ;  you  are  young  and  strong ;  change  with  me  for 
an  hour  or  so."  And  then  they  did  change,  and  the  horse 
on  which  Robarts  found  liimself  mounted  went  away  with 
him  beautifully. 

"He's  a  splendid  animal,"  said  Mark,  when  they  again 
met. 

"  Yes,  for  a  man  of  your  weight.  He's  thrown  away 
upon  me — too  much  of  a  horse  for  my  purposes.  I  don't 
get  along  now  quite  as  well  as  I  used  to  do.  He  is  a  nice 
sort  of  hunter — just  rising  six,  you  know." 

How  it  came  to  pass  that  the  price  of  the  splendid  ani- 
mal was  mentioned  between  them  I  need  not  describe  with 
exactness.  But  it  did  come  to  pass  that  Mr.  Sowerby  told 
the  parson  that  the  horse  should  be  his  for  £130. 

"  And  I  really  wish  you'd  take  him,"  said  Sowerby.  "  It 
would  be  the  means  of  partially  relieving  my  mind  of  a 
great  weight." 

Mark  looked  up  into  his  friend's  face  with  an  air  of  sur- 
prise, for  he  did  not  at  the  moment  understand  how  this 
should  be  the  case. 

"  I  am  afraid,  you  know,  that  you  will  have  to  put  your 
hand  into  your  pocket  sooner  or  later  about  that  accursed 
bill" — Mark  shrank  as  the  profane  word  struck  his  ears — 
"  and  I  should  be  glad  to  think  that  you  had  got  something 
in  hand  in  the  way  of  value." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  shall  have  to  pay  the  whole  sum 
of  £500  ?" 

"  Oh  dear,  no,  nothing  of  the  kind ;  but  something,  I 
dare  say,  you  will  have  to  pay :  if  you  like  to  take  Dandy 
for  a  hundred  and  thirty,  you  can  be  prepared  for  that 
amount  when  Tozer  comes  to  you.  The  horse  is  dog  cheap, 
and  you  will  have  a  long  day  for  your  money." 

Mark  at  first  declared,  in  a  quiet,  determined  tone,  that 
he  did  not  want  the  horse ;  but  it  afterward  appeared  to 
him  that  if  it  were  so  fated  that  he  must  pay  a  portion  of 
Mr.  Sowerby's  debts,  he  might  as  well  repay  himself  to 
any  extent  within  his  power.  It  would  be  as  well,  perhaps, 
that  he  should  take  the  horse  and  sell  him.  It  did  not  oc- 
cur to  him  that  by  so  doing  he  would  put  it  in  ^Ir.  Sower- 


loC)  FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

by's  power  to  say  that  some  valuable  consideration  had 
passed  between  them  with  reference  to  this  bill,  and  that 
he  would  be  aiding  that  gentleman  in  preparing  an  inex- 
tricable confusion  of  money-matters  between  them.  Mr. 
Sowerby  well  knew  the  value  of  this.  It  would  enable 
him  to  make  a  plausible  story,  as  he  had  done  in  that  other 
case  of  Lord  Lufton. 

"  Are  you  going  to  have  Dandy  ?"  Sowerby  said  to  him 
again. 

"I  can't  say  that  I  will  just  at  present,"  said  the  parson. 
"  What  should  I  want  of  him  now  the  season's  over  ?" 

"  Exactly,  my  dear  fellow  ;  and  what  do  I  want  of  him 
now  the  season's  over  ?  If  it  were  the  beginning  of  Octo- 
ber instead  of  the  end  of  March,  Dandy  would  be  up  at 
two  hundred  and  thirty  instead  of  one ;  in  six  months' 
time  that  horse  will  be  worth  any  thing  you  like  to  ask  for 
him.     Look  at  his  bone." 

The  vicar  did  look  at  his  bones,  examining  the  brute  in 
a  very  knowing  and  unclerical  manner.  He  lifted  the  ani- 
mal's four  feet  one  after  another,  handling  the  frogs,  and 
measuring  with  his  eye  the  proportion  of  the  parts ;  he 
passed  his  hand  up  and  down  the  legs,  spanning  the  bones 
of  the  lower  joint;  he  peered  into  his  eyes,  took  into  con- 
sideration the  width  of  his  chest,  the  dip  of  his  back,  the 
form  of  his  ribs,  the  curve  of  his  haunches,  and  his  capa- 
bilities for  breathing  when  pressed  by  Avork.  And  then 
he  stood  away  a  little,  eying  him  from  the  side,  and  taking 
in  a  general  idea  of  the  form  and  make  of  the  whole.  "  He 
seems  to  stand  over  a  little,  I  think,"  said  the  parson. 

"It's  the  lie  of  the  ground.  Move  him  about.  Bob. 
There,  now,  let  him  stand  there." 

"  He's  not  perfect,"  said  Mark.  "  I  don't  quite  like  his 
heels ;  but  no  doubt  he's  a  nicish  cut  of  a  horse." 

"  I  rather  think  he  is.  If  he  were  perfect,  as  you  say, 
he  would  not  be  going  into  your  stables  for  a  hundred  and 
thirty.  Do  you  ever  remember  to  have  seen  a  perfect 
horse?" 

"  Your  mare  Mrs.  Gamp  was  as  nearly  perfect  as  pos- 
sible." 

"  Even  Mrs.  Gamp  had  her  faults.  In  the  first  jjlace, 
she  was  a  bad  feeder.  But  one  certainly  doesn't  often 
come  across  any  thing  much  better  than  Mrs.  Gamp." 
And  thus  the  matter  was  talked  over  between  them  with 


FUAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  157 

much  stable  conversation,  all  of  which  tended  to  make 
Sowerby  more  and  more  oblivious  of  his  friend's  sacred 
profession,  and  perhaps  to  make  the  vicar  himself  too  fre- 
quently oblivious  of  it  also.  But  no,  he  was  not  oblivious 
of  it.  He  was  even  mindful  of  it ;  but  mindful  of  it  in 
such  a  manner  that  his  thoughts  on  the  subject  were  now- 
adays always  painful. 

There  is  a  j^arish  called  Hogglestock  lying  away  quite  in 
the  northern  extremity  of  the  eastern  division  of  the  coun- 
ty— lying  also  on  the  borders  of  the  western  division.  I 
almost  fear  that  it  will  become  necessary,  before  this  histo- 
ry be  completed,  to  provide  a  map  of  Barsetshire  for  the 
due  explanation  of  all  these  localities.  Framley  is  also  in 
the  northern  portion  of  the  county,  but  just  to  the  south 
of  the  grand  trunk  line  of  railway  from  which  the  branch 
to  Barchester  strikes  off  at  a  point  some  thirty  miles  nearer 
to  London.  The  station  for  Framley  Court  is  Silverbridge, 
which  is,  however,  in  the  western  division  of  the  county. 
Hogglestock  is  to  the  north  of  the  railway,  the  line  of  which, 
however,  runs  through  a  portion  of  the  parish,  and  it  ad- 
joins Framley,  though  the  churches  are  as  much  as  seven 
miles  apart.  Barsetshire,  taken  altogether,  is  a  pleasant 
green  tree-becrowded  county,  with  large  bosky  hedges, 
pretty  damp  deep  lanes,  and  roads  with  broad  grass  mar- 
gins running  along  them.  Such  is  the  general  nature  of 
the  county ;  but  just  up  in  its  northern  extremity  this  na- 
ture alters.  There  it  is  bleak  and  ugly,  with  low  artificial 
hedges  and  without  wood ;  not  uncultivated,  for  it  is  all 
portioned  out  into  new-looking  large  fields,  bearing  turnips, 
and  wheat,  and  mangel,  all  in  due  course  of  agricultural  ro- 
tation ;  but  it  has  none  of  the  special  beauties  of  English 
cultivation.  There  is  not  a  gentleman's  house  in  the  par- 
ish of  Hogglestock  besides  that  of  the  clergyman ;  and 
this,  though  it  is  certainly  the  house  of  a  gentleman,  can 
hardly  be  said  to  be  fit  to  be  so.  It  is  ugly,  and  straight, 
and  small.  There  is  a  garden  attached  to  the  house,  half 
in  front  of  it  and  half  behind ;  but  this  garden,  like  the 
rest  of  the  parish,  is  by  no  means  ornamental,  though  sufli- 
ciently  useful.  It  produces  cabbages,  but  no  trees ;  pota- 
toes of,  I  believe,  an  excellent  description,  but  hardly  any 
flowers,  and  nothing  worthy  of  the  name  of  a  shrub.  In- 
deed, the  whole  parish  of  Hogglestock  should  have  been 
in  the  adjoining  county,  which  is  by  no  means  so  attractive 


158  FRAMLEY    PAliSONAGil. 

as  Barsetshire — a  fact  well  known  to  those  few  of  my  read- 
ers who  are  well  acquainted  with  their  own  country. 

Mr.  Crawley,  whose  name  has  been  mentioned  in  these 
pages,  was  the  incumbent  of  Hogglestock.  On  what  prin- 
ciple the  remuneration  of  our  parish  clergymen  was  settled 
when  the  original  settlement  was  made,  no  deepest,  keenest 
lover  of  middle-aged  ecclesiastical  black-letter  learning  can, 
I  take  it,  now  say.  That  the  priests  were  to  be  paid  from 
tithes  of  the  parish  produce,  out  of  which  tithes  certain 
other  good  things  were  to  be  bought  and  paid  for,  such  as 
church  repairs  and  education,  of  so  much  the  most  of  us 
have  an  inkling.  That  a  rector,  being  a  big  sort  of  parson, 
owned  the  tithes  of  his  parish  in  full,  or,  at  any  rate,  that 
l^art  of  them  intended  for  the  clergyman,  and  that  a  vicar 
was  somebody's  deputy,  and  therefore  entitled  only  to  lit- 
tle tithes,  as  being  a  little  body — of  so  much  we  that  are 
simple  in  such  matters  have  a  general  idea.  But  one  can 
not  conceive  that  even  in  this  way  any  approximation  could 
have  been  made,  even  in  those  old  mediaeval  days,  toward 
a  fair  proportioning  of  the  pay  to  the  work.  At  any  rate, 
it  is  clear  enough  that  there  is  no  such  approximation  now. 

And  what  a  screech  would  there  not  be  among  the  clergy 
of  the  Church,  even  in  these  reforming  days,  if  any  over- 
bold reformer  were  to  suggest  that  such  an  approximation 
should  be  attempted  ?  Let  those  who  know  clergymen, 
and  like  them,  and  have  lived  with  them,  only  fancy  it ! 
Clergymen  to  be  paid,  not  according  to  the  temporalities 
of  any  living  which  they  may  have  acquired  either  by  merit 
or  favor,  but  in  accordance  with  the  work  to  be  done !  O 
Doddington  !  and  O  Stanhope,  think  of  this,  if  an  idea  so 
sacrilegious  can  find  entrance  into  your  warm  ecclesiastical 
bosoms !  Ecclesiastical  work  to  be  bought  and  paid  for 
according  to  its  quantity  and  quality ! 

But,  nevertheless,  one  may  prophesy  that  we  Enghsh- 
men  must  come  to  this,  disagreeable  as  the  idea  undoubt- 
edly is.  Most  pleasant-minded  Churchmen  feci,  I  tliink, 
on  this  subject,  pretty  much  in  the  same  way.  Our  present 
arrangement  of  parochial  incomes  is  beloved  as  being  time- 
honored,  gentlemanlike,  English,  and  picturesque.  We 
Avould  fain  adhere  to  it  closely  as  long  as  we  can,  but  Ave 
know  that  we  do  so  by  the  force  of  our  prejudices,  and  not 
by  that  of  our  judgment.  A  time-honored,  gentlemanlike, 
English,  picturesque  arrangement  is  so  far  very  delightful. 


FRAAILEY    PAKSONAGE.  169 

But  are  there  not  other  attributes  very  desirable — nay,  al>. 
sohitely  necessary — in  respect  to  which  this  time-honored, 
picturesque  arrangement  is  so  very  deficient  ? 

How  pleasant  it  was,  too,  that  one  bishop  should  be  get- 
ting fifteen  thousand  a  year,  and  another,  with  an  equal 
cure  of  parsons,  only  four !  That  a  certain  prelate  could 
get  twenty  thousand  one  year,  and  his  successor  in  the 
same  diocese  only  five  the  next !  There  was  something  in 
it  pleasant  and  picturesque ;  it  was  an  arrangement  endowed 
with  feudal  charms,  and  the  change  which  they  have  made 
was  distasteful  to  many  of  us.  A  bishop  with  a  regular 
salary,  and  no  appanage  of  land  and  land-bailifis,  is  only 
half  a  bishop.  Let  any  man  prove  to  me  the  contrary  ever 
so  thoroughly — let  me  prove  it  to  my  own  self  ever  so  oft- 
en, my  heart  in  this  matter  is  not  thereby  a  whit  altered. 
One  liked  to  know  that  there  was  a  dean  or  two  who  got 
his  three  thousand  a  year,  and  that  old  Dr.  Purple  held  four 
stalls,  one  of  which  was  golden,  and  the  other  three  silver- 
gilt!  Such  knowledge  was  always  pleasant  to  me!  A 
golden  stall !  How  sweet  is  the  sound  thereof  to  church- 
loving  ears ! 

But  bishops  have  been  shorn  of  their  beauty,  and  deans 
are  in  their  decadence.  A  utilitarian  age  requires  the  fat- 
ness of  the  ecclesiastical  land,  in  order  that  it  may  be  di- 
vided out  into  small  portions  of  provender,  on  which  neces- 
sary working  clergymen  may  live — into  portions  so  infini- 
tesimally  small  that  working  clergymen  can  hardly  live. 
And  the  full-blown  rectors  and  vicars,  with  full-blown  tithes 
— with  tithes  when  too  full-blown  for  strict  utilitarian  prin- 
ciples— will  necessarily  follow.  Stanhope  and  Dpddington 
must  bow  their  heads,  with  such  compensation  for  tem- 
poral rights  as  may  be  extracted,  but  probably  without 
such  compensation  as  may  be  desired.  In  other  trades, 
professions,  and  lines  of  life,  men  are  paid  according  to 
their  work.  Let  it  be  so  in  the  Church.  Such  will  sooner 
or  later  be  the  edict  of  a  utilitarian,  reforming,  matter-of- 
fact  House  of  Parliament. 

I  have  a  scheme  of  my  own  on  the  subject,  which  I  will 
not  introduce  here,  seeing  that  neither  men  nor  women 
would  read  it.  And  with  reference  to  this  matter,  I  will 
only  here  farther  explain  that  all  these  words  have  been 
brought  about  by  the  fact,  necessary  to  be  here  stated,  that 
Mr.  Crawley  only  received  one  hundred  and  thirty  pounds 


100  FKAMLKY    I'AKSONAGi:. 

a  year  for  ])erforming  the  whole  parochial  duty  of  the  par^ 
ish  of  Hogglestock.  And  Hogglestock  is  a  large  parish. 
It  includes  two  populous  villages,  abounding  in  brick-ma' 
kers,  a  race  of  men  very  troublesome  to  a  zealous  parson 
who  won't  let  men  go  rollicking  to  the  devil  without  inter- 
ference.  Hogglestock  has  full  work  for  two  men  ;  and  yet 
all  the  funds  therein  applicable  to  parson's  work  is  this  mis- 
erable stipend  of  one  hundred  and  thirty  pounds  a  year. 
It  is  a  stipend  neither  picturesque,  nor  time-honored,  nor 
feudal,  for  Hogglestock  takes  rank  only  as  a  perpetual  cu- 
racy. 

Mr.  Crawley  has  been  mentioned  before  as  a  clergyman 
of  whom  Mr.  Robarts  said  that  he  almost  thought  it  wrong 
to  take  a  w^alk  out  of  his  own  parish.  In  so  saying  Mark 
Robarts  of  course  burlesqued  his  brother  parson ;  but  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Crawley  was  a  strict  man  —  a 
strict,  stern,  unpleasant  man,  and  one  who  feared  God  and 
his  own  conscience.  We  must  say  a  word  or  two  of  Mr. 
Crawley  and  his  concerns. 

He  was  now  some  forty  years  of  age,  but  of  these  he  had 
not  been  in  possession  even  of  his  present  benefice  for  more 
than  four  or  five.  The  first  ten  years  of  his  life  as  a  cler- 
gyman had  been  passed  in  performing  the  duties  and  strug- 
gling through  the  life  of  a  curate  in  a  bleak,  ugly,  cold  par- 
ish on  the  northern  coast  of  Cornwall.  It  had  been  a  weary 
life  and  a  fearful  struggle,  made  up  of  duties  ill  requited 
and  not  always  satisfactorily  performed,  of  love  and  pov- 
erty, of  increasing  cares,  of  sickness,  debt,  and  death.  For 
Mr.  Crawley  had  married  almost  as  soon  as  he  was  ordain- 
ed, and  children  had  been  born  to  him  in  that  chill,  com- 
fortless Cornish  cottage.  He  had  married  a  lady  well  edu- 
cated and  softly  nurtured,  but  not  dowered  with  w^orldly 
w^ealth.  They  two  had  gone  forth  determined  to  fight 
bravely  together;  to  disregard  the  world  and  the  world's 
ways,  looking  only  to  God  and  to  each  other  for  their  com- 
fort. They  would  give  up  ideas  of  gentle  living,  of  soft 
raiment,  and  delicate  feeding.  Others — those  that  work 
with  their  hands,  even  the  bettermost  of  such  workers — 
could  live  in  decency  and  health  upon  even  such  provision 
as  he  could  earn  as  a  clergyman.  In  such  manner  would 
they  live,  so  poorly  and  so  decently,  working  out  their 
work,  not  with  their  hands,  but  w^ith  their  hearts. 

And  so  thev  had  established  themselves,  bejrinnincj  the 


FKAMLEY    PAKSONAGE.  ICl 

world  with  one  barefooted  little  girl  of  fourteen  to  aid  them 
in  their  small  household  matters ;  and  for  a  while  they  had 
both  kept  heart,  loving  each  other  dearly,  and  prospering 
somewhat  in  their  work.  But  a  man  who  has  once  walked 
the  world  as  a  gentleman  knows  not  what  it  is  to  change 
his  position,  and  place  himself  lower  down  in  the  social 
rank ;  much  less  can  he  know  what  it  is  so  to  put  down 
the  woman  whom  he  loves.  There  are  a  thousand  things, 
mean  and  trifling  in  themselves,  which  a  man  despises  when 
he  thinks  of  them  in  his  philosophy,  but  to  dispense  with 
which  puts  his  philosophy  to  so  stern  a  proof.  Let  any 
plainest  man  who  reads  this  think  of  his  usual  mode  of  get- 
ting himself  into  his  matutinal  garments,  and  confess  how 
much  such  a  struggle  would  cost  him. 

And  then  children  had  come.  The  wife  of  the  laboring 
man  does  rear  her  children,  and  often  rears  them  in  health, 
without  even  so  many  appliances  of  comfort  as  found  their 
way  into  Mrs.  Crawley's  cottage ;  but  the  task  to  her  was 
almost  more  than  she  could  accomplish.  Not  that  she 
ever  fainted  or  gave  way :  she  was  made  of  the  sterner 
metal  of  the  two,  and  could  last  on  while  he  was  prostrate. 

And  sometimes  he  was  prostrate — prostrate  in  soul  and 
spirit.  Then  would  he  complain  with  bitter  voice,  crying 
out  that  the  world  was  too  hard  for  him,  that  his  back  was 
broken  with  his  burden,  that  his  God  had  deserted  him. 
For  days  and  days,  in  such  moods,  he  would  stay  within 
his  cottage,  never  darkening  the  door  or  seeing  other  face 
than  those  of  his  own  inmates.  Those  days  were  terrible 
both  to  him  and  her.  He  would  sit  there  unwashed,  with  his" 
unshorn  face  resting  on  his  hand,  with  an  old  dressing-goMii 
hanging  loose  about  him,  hardly  tasting  food,  seldom  speak- 
ing, striving  to  pray,  but  striving  so  frequently  in  vain. 
And  then  he  would  rise  from  his  chair,  and,  with  a  burst 
of  phrensy,  call  upon  his  Creator  to  remove  him  from  this 
misery. 

In  these  moments  she  never  deserted  him.  At  one  pe- 
riod they  had  had  four  children,  and  though  the  whole 
Aveight  of  this  young  brood  rested  on  her  arms,  on  her 
muscles,  on  her  strength  of  mind  and  body,  she  never  ceased 
in  her  efforts  to  comfort  him.  Then  at  length,  falling  ut- 
terly upon  the  ground,  he  would  pour  forth  piteous  pray- 
ers for  mercy,  and,  after  a  night  of  sleep,  would  once  more 
go  forth  to  his  work. 


162  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

But  she  never  yielded  to  despair ;  the  struggle  was  never 
beyond  her  powers  of  endurance.  She  had  possessed  her 
share  of  woman's  loveliness,  but  that  was  now  all  gone. 
Her  color  quickly  faded,  and  the  fresh,  soft  tints  soon  de- 
serted her  face  and  forehead.  She  became  thin,  and  rough, 
and  ahuost  haggard — thin,  till  her  cheek-bones  were  nearly 
pressing  through  her  skin,  till  her  elbows  were  sharp,  and 
her  tinger-bones  as  those  of  a  skeleton.  Her  eye  did  not 
lose  its  lustre,  but  it  became  unnaturally  briglit,  prominent, 
and  too  large  for  her  wan  face.  The  soft  brown  locks  which 
she  had  once  loved  to  brush  back,  scorning,  as  she  would 
boast  to  herself,  to  care  that  they  should  be  seen,  were  now 
sparse  enough,  and  all  untidy  and  unclean.  It  w^as  mat- 
ter of  little  thought  now  whether  they  were  seen  or  no. 
Whether  he  could  be  made  fit  to  go  into  his  pulpit — wheth- 
er they  might  be  fed  —  those  four  innocents — and  their 
backs  kept  from  the  cold  wind — that  was  now  the  matter 
of  her  thought. 

And  then  two  of  them  died,  and  she  went  forth  herself 
to  see  them  laid  under  the  frost-bound  sod,  lest  he  should 
faint  in  his  work  over  their  graves.  For  he  would  ask 
aid  from  no  man — such  at  least  was  his  boast  through  all. 

Two  of  them  died,  but  their  illness  had  been  long ;  and 
then  debts  came  upon  them.  Debt,  indeed,  had  been  creep- 
ing on  them  with  slow  but  sure  feet  during  the  last  five 
years.  Who  can  see  his  children  hungry,  and  not  take 
bread  if  it  be  offered  ?  Who  can  see  his  wife  lying  in 
sharpest  want,  and  not  seek  a  remedy  if  there  be  a  remedy 
within  reacli  ?  So  debt  had  come  upon  them,  and  rude 
men  pressed  for  small  sums  of  money — for  sums  small  to 
the  world,  but  impossibly  large  to  them.  And  he  would 
hide  himself  within  there,  in  that  cranny  ot  an  inner  cham- 
ber— hide  himself  with  deep  shame  from  the  world — with 
shame,  and  a  sinking  heart,  and  a  broken  spirit. 

But  had  such  a  man  no  friend?  it  will  be  said.  Such 
men,  I  take  it,  do  not  make  many  friends.  But  this  man 
was  not  utterly  friendless.  Almost  every  year  one  visit 
was  paid  to  him  in  his  Cornish  curacy  by  a  brother  clergy- 
man, an  old  college  friend,  who,  as  far  as  might  in  him  lie, 
did  give  aid  to  the  curate  and  his  wife.  This  gentleman 
would  take  up  his  abode  for  a  week  at  a  farmer's  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  though  he  found  Mr.  Crawley  in  despair, 
he  would  leave  him  witli  some  drops  of  comfort  in  liis  soul. 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  1G3 

Nor  were  the  benefits  in  this  respect  all  on  one  side.  Mr. 
Crawley,  though  at  some  periods  weak  enough  for  himself, 
could  be  strong  for  others ;  and,  more  than  once,  was  strong 
to  the  great  advantage  of  this  man  whom  he  loved.  And 
then,  too,  pecuniary  asststance  was  forthcoming — in  those 
earlier  years  not  in  great  amount,  for  this  friend  was  not 
then  among  the  rich  ones  of  the  earth — but  in  amount  suf- 
ficient for  that  moderate  hearth,  if  only  its  acceptance  could 
have  been  managed.  But  in  that  matter  there  were  diffi- 
culties without  end.  Of  absolute  money  tenders  Mr.  Craw- 
ley would  accept  none.  But  a  bill  here  and  there  was  paid, 
the  wife  assisting ;  and  shoes  came  for  Kate,  till  Kate  was 
placed  beyond  the  need  of  shoes ;  and  cloth  for  Harry  and 
Frank  found  its  way  surreptitiously  in  beneath  the  cover 
of  that  wife's  solitary  trunk — cloth  with  which  those  lean 
fingers  worked  garments  for  the  two  boys,  to  be  worn — 
such  was  God's  will — only  by  the  one. 

Such  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crawley  in  their  Cornish  curacy, 
and  during  their  severest  struggles.  To  one  who  thinks 
that  a  fair  day's  work  is  worth  a  fair  day's  wages,  it  seems 
hard  enough  that  a  man  should  work  so  hard  and  receive 
so  little.  There  will  be  those  who  think  that  the  fault  was 
all  his  own  in  marrying  sq  young.  But  still  there  remains 
that  question.  Is  not  a  fair  day's  work  worth  a  fair  day's 
wages  ?  This  man  did  work  hard — at  a  task  perhaps  the 
hardest  of  any  that  a  man  may  do,  and  for  ten  years  he 
earned  some  seventy  pounds  a  year.  Will  any  one  say  that 
he  received  fair  wages  for  his  fair  work,  let  him  be  married 
or  single  ?  And  yet  there  are  so  many  who  Avould  fain 
pay  their  clergy,  if  they  only  knew  how  to  apply  their 
money !  But  that  is  a  long  subject,  as  Mr.  Robarts  had 
told  Miss  Dunstable. 

Such  was  Mr.  Crawley  in  his  Cornish  curacy. 


CHAPTER  Xy. 


AxD  then,  in  the  days  which  followed,  that  friend  of  Mr. 
Crawley's,  whose  name,  by-the-by,  is  yet  to  be  mentioned, 
received  quick  and  great  promotion.  Mr.  Arabin  by  name 
he  was  then — Dr.  Arabin  afterward,  when  that  quick  and 


]G4  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

great  jDromotion  reached  its  climax.  He  had  been  simply 
a  fellow  of  Lazarus  in  those  former  years ;  then  he  became 
vicar  of  St.  Ewold's,  in  East  Barsetshire,  and  had  not  yet 
got  himself  settled  there  when  he  married  Widow  Bold,  a 
widow  with  belongings  in  land  ancffunded  money,  and  with 
but  one  small  baby  as  an  encumbrance.  "Nor  had  he  even 
yet  married  her — had  only  engaged  himself  so  to  do,  when 
they  made  him  Dean  of  Barchester,  all  which  may  be  read 
in  the  diocesan  and  county  chronicles. 

And,  now  that  he  was  wealthy,  the  new  dean  did  con- 
trive to  pay  the  debts  of  his  poor  friend,  some  lawyer  of 
Camelford  assisting  him.  It  was  but  a  paltry  schedule 
after  all,  amounting  in  the  total  to  something  not  much 
above  a  hundred  pounds.  And  then,  in  the  course  of  eight- 
een months,  this  poor  piece  of  preferment  fell  in  the  dean's 
Avay,  this  incumbency  of  Hogglestock,  with  its  stipend 
reaching  one  hundred  and  thirty  pounds  a  year.  Even  that 
Avas  worth  double  the  Cornish  curacy,  and  there  was,  more- 
over, a  house  attached  to  it.  Poor  Mrs.  Crawley,  when  she 
heard  of  it,  thought  that  their  struggles  of  poverty  were 
now  well-nigh  over.  What  might  not  be  done  with  a  hund- 
red and  thirty  pounds  by  people  who  had  lived  for  ten 
years  on  seventy  ? 

And  so  they  moved  away  out  of  that  cold,  bleak  coun- 
try, carrying  with  them  their  humble  household  gods,  and 
settled  themselves  in  another  country,  cold  and  bleak  also, 
but  less  terribly  so  than  the  former.  They  settled  them- 
selves, and  again  began  their  struggles  against  man's  hard- 
ness and  the  devil's  zeal.  I  have  said  that  Mr.  Crawley 
was  a  stern,  unpleasant  man,  and  it  certainly  was  so.  The 
man  must  be  made  of  very  sterling  stuff  whom  continued 
and  undeserved  misfortune  does  not  make  unpleasant.  This 
man  had  so  far  succumbed  to  grief  that  it  had  left  upon  him 
its  marks,  palpable  and  not  to  be  eifaced.  He  cared  little 
for  society,  judging  men  to  be  doing  evil  who  did  care  for 
it.  He  knew  as  a  fact,  and  believed  with  all  his  heart,  that 
these  sorrows  had  come  to  him  from  the  hand  of  God,  and 
they  would  work  for  his  weal  in  the  long  run  ;  but  not  the 
less  did  they  make  him  morose,  silent,  and  dogged.  He 
had  always  at  his  heart  a  feeling  that  he  and  his  had  been 
ill  used,  and  too  often  solaced  himself,  at  the  devil's  bidding, 
w^ith  the  conviction  that  eternity  would  make  equal  that 
which  life  in  this  Avorld  had  made  so  unequal — the  last  bait 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  165 

that  with  which  the  devil  angles  after  those  who  arc  strug- 
gling to  elude  his  rod  and  line. 

The  Framley  property  did  not  run  into  the  parish  of 
Hogglestock ;  but,  nevertheless,  Lady  Lufton  did  what  she 
could  in  the  way  of  kindness  to  these  new-comers.  Provi- 
dence had  not  supplied  Hogglestock  witii  a  Lady  Lufton, 
or  with  any  substitute  in  the  shape  of  lord  or  lady,  squire 
or  squiress.  The  Hogglestock  farmers,  male  and  female, 
were  a  rude,  rough  set,  not  bordering  in  their  social  rank 
on  the  farmer  gentle ;  and  Lady  Lufton,  knowing  this,  and 
hearing  something  of  these  Crawleys  from  Mrs.  Arabin, 
the  dean's  wife,  trimmed  her  lamps,  so  that  they  should 
shed  a  wider  light,  and  pour  forth  some  of  their  influence 
on  that  forlorn  household. 

And,  as  regards  Mrs.  Crawley,  Lady  Lufton  by  no  means 
found*  that  her  work  and  good-will  were  thrown  away. 
Mrs.  Crawley  accepted  her  kindness  with  thankfulness,  and 
returned  to  some  of  the  softnesses  of  life  under  her  hand. 
As  for  dining  at  Framley  Court,  that  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. Mr.  Crawley,  she  knew,  would  not  hear  of  it,  even 
if  other  things  were  fitting,  and  appliances  were  at  com- 
mand. Indeed,  Mrs.  Crawley  at  once  said  that  she  felt  her- 
self unfit  to  go  through  such  a  ceremony  w  ith  any  thing 
like  comfort.  The  dean,  she  said,  would  talk  of  their  go- 
ing to  stay  at  the  deanery,  but  she  thought  it  quite  impos- 
sible that  either  of  them  should  endure  even  that.  But, 
all  the  same.  Lady  Lufton  was  a  comfort  to  her ;  and  the 
poor  woman  felt  that  it  Avas  well  to  have  a  lady  near  her 
in  case  of  need. 

The  task  was  much  harder  with  Mr.  Crawley,  but  even 
with  him  it  was  not  altogether  unsuccessful.  Lady  Lufton 
talked  to  him  of  his  parish  and  of  her  own ;  made  Mark 
Robarts  go  to  him,  and  by  degrees  did  something  toward 
civilizing  him.  Between  him  and  Robarts,  too,  there  grew 
up  an  intimacy  rather  than  a  friendship.  Robarts  would 
submit  to  his  opinion  on  matters  of  ecclesiastical  and  even 
theological  law,  would  listen  to  him  with  patience,  w^ould 
agree  with  him  where  he  could,  and  differ  from  him  mildly 
when  he  could  not ;  for  Robarts  was  a  man  who  made  him- 
self pleasant  to  all  men.  And  thus,  under  Lady  Lufton's 
wing,  there  grew  up  a  connection  between  Framley  and 
Hogglestock,  in  which  Mrs.  Robarts  also  assisted. 

And,  now  that  Lady  Lufton  was  looking  about  her,  to 


166  FKAMLEY    TAKSONAGE. 

see  how  she  might  best  bring  proper  clerical  influence  to 
bear  upon  her  own  recreant  fox-hunting  parson,  it  occurred 
to  her  that  she  might  use  Mr.  Crawley  in  the  matter.  Mr. 
Crawley  would  certainly  be  on  her  side  as  far  as  opinion 
went,  and  would  have  no  fear  of  expressing  his  opinion  to 
his  brother  clergyman.     So  she  sent  for  Mr.  Crawley. 

In  appearance  he  was  the  a' ery  opposite  to  Mark  Robarts. 
He  was  a  lean,  slim,  meagre  man,  with  shoulders  slightly 
curved,  and  pale,  lank,  long  locks  of  ragged  hair ;  his  fore- 
head was  high,  but  his  face  Avas  narrow ;  his  small  gray 
eyes  were  deeply  sunken  in  his  liead,  his  nose  was  well 
formed,  his  lips  thin  and  his  mouth  expressive.  Nobody 
could  look  at  him  without  seeing  that  there  was  a  purpose 
and  a  meaning  in  his  countenance.  He  always  wore,  in 
summer  and  winter,  a  long  dusky  gray  coat,  which  button- 
ed close  up  to  his  neck,  and  descended  almost  to  his  heels. 
Ho  was  full  six  feet  high,  but,  being  so  slight  in  build,  he 
looked  as  though  he  were  taller. 

He  came  at  once  at  Lady  Lufton's  bidding,  putting  him- 
self into  the  gig  beside  the  servant,  to  whom  he  sjDoke  no 
single  word  during  the  journey.  And  the  man,  looking 
into  his  face,  was  struck  with  taciturnity.  Now  Mark 
Robarts  would  have  talked  with  him  the  whole  way  from 
Hogglestock  to  Framley  Court,  discoursing  partly  as  to 
horses  and  land,  but  partly  also  as  to  higher  things. 

And  then  Lady  Lufton  opened  her  mind  and  told  her 
griefs  to  Mr.  Crawley,  urging,  however,  through  the  whole 
length  of  her  narrative,  that  Mr.  Robarts  was  an  excellent 
parish  clergyman — "just  such  a  clergyman  in  his  church 
as  I  would  wish  him  to  be,"  she  explained,  with  the  view 
of  saving  herself  from  an  expression  of  any  of  Mr.  Craw- 
ley's special  ideas  as  to  church  teaching,  and  of  confining 
him  to  the  one  subject-matter  in  hand;  "but  he  got  this 
living  so  young,  Mr.  Crawley,  that  he  is  hardly  quite  as 
steady  as  I  could  wish  him  to  be.  It  has  been  as  much 
my  fault  as  his  own  in  placing  him  in  such  a  position  so 
early  in  life." 

"I  think  it  has,"  said  Mr.  Crawley,  who  might,  perhaps, 
be  a  little  sore  on  such  a  subject. 

"  Quite  so — quite  so,"  continued  her  ladyship,  swallow- 
ing  down  with  a  gulp  a  certain  sense  of  anger.  "  But  that 
is  done  now,  and  is  past  cure.  That  Mr.  Robarts  will  be% 
come  a  credit  to  his  profession  I  do  not  doubt,  for  his  heart 


FilAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  16Y 

is  in  the  right  place  and  his  sentiments  are  good ;  but  1 1'ear 
that  at  present  he  is  succumbing  to  temptation." 

"I  am  told  that  he  hunts  two  or  three  times  a  week. 
Every  body  round  us  is  talking  about  it." 

"  No,  Mr.  Crawley,  not  two  or  three  times  a  week ; 
very  seldom  above  once,  I  think.  And  then  I  do  believe 
he  does  it  more  with  the  view  of  being  with  Lord  Lufton 
than  any  thing  else." 

"  I  can  not  see  that  that  would  make  the  matter  better," 
said  Mr.  Crawley. 

"  It  would  show  that  he  was  not  strongly  imbued  with 
a  taste  which  I  can  not  but  regard  as  vicious  in  a  clergy- 
man." 

"  It  must  be  vicious  in  all  men,"  said  Mr.  Crawley.  "  It 
is  in  itself  cruel,  and  leads  to  idleness  and  profligacy." 

Again  Lady  Lufton  made  a  gulp.  She  had  called  Mr. 
Crawley  thither  to  her  aid,  and  felt  that  it  Avould  be  inex- 
pedient to  quarrel  w^ith  him.  But  she  did  not  like  to  be 
told  that  her  son's  amusement  w^as  idle  and  profligate.  She 
had  always  regarded  hunting  as  a  proper  pursuit  for  a 
country  gentleman.  It  was,  indeed,  in  her  eyes,  one  of  the 
peculiar  institutions  of  country  life  in  England,  and  it  may 
almost*'be  said  that  she  looked  upon  the  Barsetshire  hunt 
as  something  sacred.  She  could  not  endure  to  hear  that 
a  fox  Avas  trapped,  and  allowed  her  turkeys  to  be  purloined 
without  a  groan.  Such  being  the  case,  she  did  not  like  be- 
ing told  that  it  w^as  vicious,  and  had  by  no  means  wished 
to  consult  Mr.  Crawley  on  that  matter.  But,  nevertheless, 
she  swallowed  down  her  wrath. 

"  It  is,  at  any  rate,  unbecoming  in  a  clergyman,"  she 
said ;  "  and  as  I  know  that  Mr.  Robarts  places  a  high  value 
on  your  opinion,  perhaps  you  Avill  not  object  to  advise  him 
to  discontinue  it.  He  might  possibly  feel  aggrieved  were 
I  to  interfere  personally  on  such  a  question." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  he  w^ould,"  said  Mr.  Crawley.  "  It  is 
not  within  a  woman's  province  to  give  counsel  to  a  clergy- 
man on  such  a  subject,  unless  she  be  very  near  and  very 
dear  to  him — his  wife,  or  mother,  or  sister." 

"  As  living  in  the  same  parish,  you  know,  and  being,  per- 
haps— "  the  leading  person  in  it,  and  the  one  who  naturally 
rules  the  others.  Those  would  have  been  the  fitting  words 
for  the  expression  of  her  ladyship's  ideas ;  but  she  remem- 
bered herself,  and  did  not  use  them.     She  had  made  up  her 


168  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

mind  that,  great  as  her  influence  ought  to  be,  she  was  not 
the  proper  person  to  speak  to  Mr.  Kobarts  as  to  his  per- 
nicious, unclerical  habits,  and  she  would  not  now  depart 
from  her  resolve  by  attempting  to  prove  that  she  was  the 
proper  person. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Crawley,  "jiist  so.  All  that  would  en- 
title him  to  offer  you  his  counsel  if  he  thought  that  your 
mode  of  life  was  such  as  to  require  it,  but  could  by  no 
means  justify  you  in  addressing  yourself  to  him." 

This  was  very  hard  upon  Lady  Lufton.  She  was  en- 
deavoring with  all  her  woman's  strength  to  do  her  best, 
and  endeavoring  so  to  do  it  that  the  feelings  of  the  sinner 
might  be  spared,  and  yet  the  ghostly  comforter  whom  she 
had  evoked  to  her  aid  treated  her  as  though  she  were  ar- 
rogant and  overbearing.  She  acknowledged  the  weakness 
of  her  own  position  with  reference  to  her  parish  clergyman 
by  calling  in  the  aid  of  Mr.  Crawley,  and,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, he  might,  at  any  rate,  have  abstained  from 
throwing  that  weakness  in  her  teeth. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  hope  my  mode  of  life  may  not  require  it ; 
but  that  is  not  exactly  to  the  point ;  what  I  wish  to  know 
is  whether  you  will  speak  to  Mr.  Robarts  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  will,"  said  he. 

"  Then  I  shall  be  much  obliged  to  you.  But,  Mr.  Craw- 
ley, pray — pray  remember  this :  I  would  not  on  any  ac- 
count wish  that  you  should  be  harsh  with  him.  He  is  an 
excellent  young  man,  and — " 

"  Lady  Lufton,  if  I  do  this  I  can  only  do  it  in  my  own 
way,  as  best  I  may,  using  such  words  as  God  may  give  me 
at  the  time.  I  hope  that  I  am  harsh  to  no  man  ;  but  it  is 
worse  than  useless,  in  all  cases,  to  speak  any  thing  but  the 
truth." 

"  Of  course — of  course." 

"If  the  ears  be  too  delicate  to  hear  tlie  trutli,  the  mind 
will  be  too  perverse  to  profit  by  it."  And  then  Mr.  Craw- 
ley got  up  to  take  his  leave. 

But  Lady  Lufton  insisted  that  he  should  go  with  her  to 
luncheon.  He  hummed  and  ha'd,  and  would  fain  have  re- 
fused, but  on  this  subject  she  was  peremptory.  It  might 
be  that  she  Avas  unfit  to  advise  a  clergyman  as  to  his  duties, 
but  in  a  matter  of  hospitality  she  did  know  what  she  was 
about.  Mr.  Crawley  should  not  leave  the  house  without 
refreshment.     As  to  this,  she  carried  her  point;  and  Mr. 


FRAMLEY  PAESONAGE.  169 

Crawley — when  the  matter  before  him  was  cold  roast-beef 
aud  hot  potatoes,  instead  of  the  relative  position  of  a  parish 
priest  and  his  parishioner — became  humble,  submissive,  and 
almost  timid.  Lady  Lufton  recommended  Madeira  instead 
of  Sherry,  and  Mr.  Crawley  obeyed  at  once,  and  was,  in- 
deed, perfectly  unconscious  of  the  difference.  Then  there 
was  a  basket  of  sea-kale  in  the  gig  for  Mrs.  Crawley ;  that 
he  would  have  left  behind  had  he  dared,  but  he  did  not 
dare.  Not  a  word  was  said  to  him  as  to  the  marmalade 
for  the  children  which  w' as  hidden  under  the  sea-kale.  Lady 
Lufton  feeling  well  aware  that  that  would  find  its  way  to 
its  proper  destination  without  any  necessity  for  his  co-op- 
eration. And  then  Mr.  Crawley  returned  home  in  the 
Framley  Court  gig. 

Three  or  four  days  after  this  he  walked  over  to  Framley 
Parsonage.  This  he  did  on  a  Saturday,  having  learned 
that  the  hounds  never  hunted  on  that  day ;  and  he  started 
early,  so  that  he  might  be  sure  to  catch  Mr.  Kobarts  before 
he  went  out  on  his  parish  business.  He  was  quite  early 
enough  to  attain  this  object,  for  w^hen  he  reached  the  Par- 
sonage door  at  about  half  past  nine,  the  vicar,  with  his  wife 
and  sister,  were  just  sitting  down  to  breakfast. 

"  Oh,  Crawley,"  said  Robarts,  before  the  other  had  well 
spoken,  "  you  are  a  capital  fellow ;"  and  then  he  got  him 
into  a  chair,  and  Mrs.  Robarts  had  poured  him  out  tea,  and 
Lucy  had  surrendered  to  him  a  knife  and  plate,  before  he 
knew  under  what  guise  to  excuse  his  coming  among  them. 

"  I  hope  you  will  excuse  this  intrusion,"  at  last  he  mut- 
tered ;  ''  but  I  have  a  few  words  of  business  to  which  I 
will  request  your  attention  presently. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Robarts,  conveying  a  broiled  kidney 
on  to  the  plate  before  Mr.  Crawley ;  "  but  there  is  no  prep- 
aration for  business  like  a  good  breakfast.  Lucy,  hand 
Mr.  Crawley  the  buttered  toast.  Eggs,  Fanny — where  are 
the  eggs  ?"  And  then  John,  in  livery,  brought  in  the  fresh 
eggs.  "  Now  we  shall  do.  I  always  eat  my  eggs  while 
they're  hot,  Crawley,  and  I  advise  you  to  do  the  same." 

To  all  this  Mr.  Crawley  said  very  little,  and  he  was  not 
at  all  at  home  under  the  circumstances.  Perhaps  a  thought 
did  pass  across  his  brain  as  to  the  difference  betw^een  the 
meal  which  he  had  left  on  his  own  table  and  that  which  he 
now  saw  before  him,  and  as  to  any  cause  which  might  ex- 
ist for  such  difference.     But,  if  so,  it  was  a  very  fleeting 


170  FBAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

thought,  for  he  had  far  other  matter  now  fully  occupying 
his  mind.  And  then  the  breakfast  was  over,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  two  clergymen  found  themselves  together  in 
the  Parsonage  study. 

"Mr.  Robarts,"  began  the  senior,  when  he  had  seated 
himself  uncomfortably  on  one  of  the  ordinary  chairs  at  the 
farther  side  of  the  well-stored  library  table,  while  Mark  was 
sitting  at  his  ease  in  his  own  arm-chair  by  the  fire,  "  I  have 
called  upon  you  on  an  unpleasant  business." 

Mark's  mind  immediately  flew  off  to  Mr.  Sowerby's  bill, 
but  he  could  not  think  it  possible  that  Mr.  Crawley  could 
have  had  any  thing  to  do  with  that. 

"But,  as  a  brother  clergyman,  and  as  one  who  esteems 
you  much  and  wishes  you  well,  I  have  thought  myself  bound 
to  take  this  matter  in  hand." 

"  What  matter  is  it,  Crawley  ?" 

"  Mr.  Robarts,  men  say  that  your  present  mode  of  life  is 
one  that  is  not  befitting  a  soldier  in  Christ's  army." 

"  Men  say  so !  what  men  ?" 

"The  men  around  you,  of  your  own  neighborhood — those 
who  watch  your  life,  and  know  all  your  doings — those  who 
look  to  see  you  walking  as  a  lamp  to  guide  their  feet,  but 
find  you  consorting  with  horse-jockeys  and  hunters,  gallop- 
ing after  hounds,  and  taking  your  place  among  the  vainest 
of  worldly  pleasure-seekers — those  who  have  a  right  to  ex- 
pect an  example  of  good  living,  and  who  think  that  they  do 
not  see  it." 

Mr.  Crawley  had  gone  at  once  to  the  root  of  the  matter, 
and  in  doing  so  had  certainly  made  his  own  task  so  much 
the  easier.  There  is  nothing  like  going  to  the  root  of  the 
matter  at  once  when  one  has  on  hand  an  unpleasant  piece 
of  business. 

"And  have  such  men  deputed  you  to  come  here?" 

"  No  one  has  or  could  depute  me.  I  have  come  to  speak 
my  own  mind,  not  that  of  any  other.  But  I  refer  to  what 
those  around  you  think  and  say,  because  it  is  to  them  that 
your  duties  are  due.  You  owe  it  to  those  around  you  to 
live  a  godly,  cleanly  life,  as  you  owe  it  also,  in  a  much  high- 
er way,  to  your  Father  who  is  in  heaven.  I  now  make  bold 
to  ask  you  whether  you  are  doing  your  best  to  lead  such  a 
life  as  that  ?"  And  then  he  remained  silent,  waiting  for  an 
answer. 

He  was  a  singular  man;  so  humble  and  meek,  so  unut- 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  I7l 

terably  inefficient  and  awkward  in  the  ordinary  intercourse 
of  life,  but  so  bold  and  enterprising,  almost  eloquent,  on  the 
one  subject  which  was  the  work  of  his  mind.  As  he  sat 
there,  he  looked  into  his  companion's  face  from  out  his 
sunken  gray  eyes  with  a  gaze  which  made  his  victim  quail; 
and  then  repeated  his  words :  "  I  now  make  bold  to  ask  you, 
Mr.  Robarts,  whether  you  are  doing  your  best  to  lead  such 
a  life  as  may  become  a  parish  clergyman  among  his  parish- 
ioners ?"     And  again  he  paused  for  an  answer. 

"  There  are  but  few  of  us,"  said  Mark,  in  a  low  tone, "  who 
could  safely  answer  that  question  in  the  affirmative." 

"  But  are  there  many,  think  you,  among  us  Avho  would 
find  the  question  so  unanswerable  as  yourself?  And  even, 
were  there  many,  would  you,  young,  enterprising,  and  tal- 
ented as  you  are,  be  content  to  be  numbered  among  them? 
Are  you  satisfied  to  be  a  castaway  after  you  have  taken 
upon  yourself  Christ's  armor  ?  If  you  will  say  so,  I  am 
mistaken  in  you,  and  w^ill  go  my  way."  There  was  again 
a  pause,  and  then  he  went  on.  "  Speak  to  me,  my  brother, 
and  open  your  heart  if  it  be  possible."  And,  rising  from 
liis  chair,  he  walked  across  the  room,  and  laid  his  hand  ten- 
derly on  Mark's  shoulder. 

Mark  had  been  sitting  lounging  in  his  chair,  and  had  at 
first,  for  a  moment  only,  thought  to  brazen  it  out.  But  all 
idea  of  brazening  had  now  left  him.  He  had  raised  him- 
self from  his  comfortable  ease,  and  was  leaning  forward 
with  his  elbow  on  the  table ;  but  now,  when  he  heard  these 
words,  he  allowed  his  head  to  sink  upon  his  arms,  and  he 
buried  his  face  between  his  hands. 

"  It  is  a  terrible  falling  off*,"  continued  Crawley :  "  terri- 
ble in  the  fall,  but  doubly  terrible  through  that  difficulty 
of  returning.  But  it  can  not  be  that  it  should  content  you 
to  place  yourself  as  one  among  those  thoughtless  sinners, 
for  the  crushing  of  whose  sin  you  have  been  j^laced  here 
among  them.  You  become  a  hunting  parson,  and  ride  with 
a  happy  mind  among  blasphemers  and  mocking  devils — 
you,  whose  aspirations  were  so  high,  who  have  spoken  so 
often  and  so  well  of  the  duties  of  a  minister  of  Christ- — 
you,  who  can  argue  in  your  pride  as  to  the  petty  details  of 
your  church  as  though  the  broad  teachings  of  its  great  and 
simple  lessons  were  not  enough  for  your  energies !  It  can 
not  be  that  I  have  had  a  hypocrite  beside  me  in  all  those 
eager  controversies !" 


172  FKAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

"Not  a  hypocrite — not  a  hypocrite,"  said  Mark,  in  a  tone 
which  was  almost  reduced  to  sobbing. 

"  But  a  castaway !  Is  it  so  that  I  must  call  you  ?  No, 
Mr.  Robarts,  not  a  castaway ;  neither  a  hypocrite  nor  a 
castaway;  but  one  who  in  walking  has  stumbled  in  the 
dark  and  bruised  his  feet  among  the  stones.  Henceforth 
let  him  take  a  lantern  in  his  hand,  and  look  warily  to  his 
path,  and  walk  cautiously  among  the  thorns  and  rocks — 
cautiously,  but  yet  boldly,  with  manly  courage  and  Chris- 
tian meekness,  as  all  men  should  walk  on  their  pilgrimage 
through  this  vale  of  tears."  And  then,  without  giving  his 
companion  time  to  stop  him,  he  hurried  out  of  the  room 
and  from  the  house,  and,  without  again  seeing  any  others 
of  the  family,  stalked  back  on  his  road  to  Hogglestock,  thus 
tramping  fourteen  miles  through  the  deep  mud  in  perform- 
ance of  the  mission  on  which  he  had  been  sent. 

It  was  some  hours  before  Mr.  Robarts  left  his  room.  As 
soon  as  he  found  that  Crawley  was  really  gone,  and  that 
he  should  see  him  no  more,  he  turned  the  lock  of  his  door, 
and  sat  himself  down  to  think  over  his  present  life.  At 
about  eleven  his  wife  knocked,  not  knowing  whether  that 
other  strange  clergyman  were  there  or  no,  for  none  had 
seen  his  departure.  But  Mark,  answering  cheerily,  desired 
that  he  might  be  left  to  his  studies. 

Let  us  hope  that  his  thoughts  and  mental  resolves  were 
then  of  service  to  him. 


CHAPTER  XYI. 

MRS.    P  O  D  G  E  N  S'    B  A  B  Y 


The  Imnting  season  had  now  nearly  passed  away,  and 
the  great  ones  of  the  Barsetshire  world  were  thinking  of 
the  glories  of  London.  Of  these  glories  Lady  Lufion  al- 
ways thought  with  much  inquietude  of  mind.  She  would 
fain  have  remained  throughout  the  whole  year  at  Framley 
Court,  did  not  certain  grave  considerations  render  such  a 
course  on  her  part  improper  in  her  own  estimation.  All 
the  Lady  Luftons  of  whom  she  had  heard,  dowager  and 
anti-dowager,  had  always  had  their  seasons  in  London,  till 
old  age  had  incapacitated  them  for  such  doings — sometimes 
for  clearly  long  after  the  arrival  of  such  period.  And  then 
she  had  an  idea,  perhaps  not  altogether  erroneous,  that  she 


FRAMLET  PARSONAGE.  173 

annually  imported  back  with  her  into  the  country  some- 
what of  the  passing  civilization  of  the  times — may  we  not 
say  an  idea  that  certainly  was  not  erroneous?  for  how 
otherwise  is  it  that  the  forms  of  new  caps  and  remodeled 
shapes  for  women's  waists  find  their  way  down  into  agri- 
cultural parts,  and  that  the  rural  eye  learns  to  appreciate 
grace  and  beauty  ?  There  are  those  Avho  think  that  remod- 
eled waists  and  new  caps  had  better  be  kept  to  the  towns ; 
but  such  people,  if  they  would  follow  out  their  own  argu- 
ment, would  wish  to  see  plowboys  painted  with  ruddle  and 
milkmaids  covered  with  skins. 

For  these  and  other  reasons  Lady  Lufton  always  went 
to  London  in  April,  and  staid  there  till  the  beginning  of 
June.  But  for  her  this  was  usually  a  period  of  penance. 
In  London  she  was  no  very  great  personage.  She  had 
never  laid  herself  out  for  greatness  of  that  sort,  and  did  not 
shine  as  a  lady-patroness  or  state  secretary  in  the  female 
cabinet  of  fjxshion.  She  Avas  dull  and  listless,  and  without 
congenial  pursuits  in  London,  and  spent  her  happiest  mo- 
ments in  reading  accounts  of  what  was  being  done  at  Fram- 
ley,  and  in  writing  orders  for  farther  local  information  of 
the  same  kind. 

But  on  this  occasion  there  was  a  matter  of  vital  import 
to  give  an  interest  of  its  own  to  her  visit  to  town.  She 
was  to  entertain  Griselda  Grantly,  and,  as  far  as  might  bo 
possible,  to  induce  her  son  to  remain  in  Griselda's  society. 
The  plan  of  the  campaign  was  to  be  as  follows.  Mrs.  Grant- 
ly and  the  archdeacon  were  in  the  first  place  to  go  up  to 
London  for  a  month,  taking  Griselda  with  them ;  and  then, 
when  they  returned  to  Plumpstead,  Griselda  was  to  go  to 
Lady  Lufton.  This  arrangement  was  not  at  all  points 
agreeable  to  Lady  Lufton,  for  she  knew  that  Mrs.  Grantly 
did  not  turn  her  back  on  the  Ilartletop  people  quite  as  cor- 
dially as  she  should  do,  considering  the  terms  of  the  Luf- 
ton-Grantly  family  treaty.  But  then  Mrs.  Grantly  might 
liave  alleged  in  excuse  the  slow  manner  in  which  Lord  Luf- 
ton proceeded  in  the  making  and  declaring  of  liis  love,  and 
the  absolute  necessity  which  there  is  for  two  strings  to  one's 
bow  Avhen  one  string  may  be  in  any  way  doubtful.  Could 
it  be  possible  that  Mrs.  Grantly  had  heard  any  thing  of  that 
unfortunate  Platonic  friendsliip  with  Lucy  Robarts  ? 

There  came  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Grantly  just  about  the  end 
of  March  which  added  much  to  Lady  Lufton's  uneasiness, 


174  PRAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

and  made  her  more  than  ever  anxious  to  be  herself  on  the 
scene  of  action,  and  to  have  Griselda  in  her  own  hands. 
After  some  communications  of  mere  ordinary  importance 
with  reference  to  the  London  world  in  general  and  the  Luf- 
ton-Grantly  w^orld  in  particular,  Mrs.  Grantly  wrote  confi- 
dentially about  her  daughter : 

"It  would  be  useless  to  deny,"  she  said,  with  a  mother's 
pride  and  a  mother's  humility,  "  that  she  is  very  much  ad- 
mired. She  is  asked  out  a  great  deal  more  than  I  can  take 
her,  and  to  houses  to  which  I  myself  by  no  means  wish  to 
go.  I  could  not  refuse  her  as  to  Lady  Hartletop's  first  ball, 
for  there  will  be  nothing  else  this  year  like  them ;  and  of 
course,  when  with  you,  dear  Lady  Lufton,  that  house  "will 
be  out  of  the  question.  So  indeed  would  it  be  with  me, 
were  I  myself  only  concerned.  The  duke  was  there,  of 
course,  and  I  really  wonder  Lady  Hartletop  should  not  be 
more  discreet  in  her  own  drawing-room  when  all  the  world 
is  there.  It  is  clear  to  me  that  Lord  Dumbello  admires 
Griselda  much  more  than  I  could  wish.  She,  dear  girl,  has 
such  excellent  sense  that  I  do  not  think  it  likely  that  her 
head  should  be  turned  by  it;  but  with  how  many  girls 
would  not  the  admiration  of  such  a  man  be  irresistible? 
The  marquis,  you  know,  is  very  feeble,  and  I  am  told  that 
since  this  rage  for  building  has  come  on,  the  Lancashire 
property  is  over  two  hundred  thousand  a  year ! !  I  do  not 
think  that  Lord  Dumbello  has  said  much  to  her.  Indeed, 
it  seems  to  me  that  he  never  does  say  much  to  any  one. 
But  he  always  stands  up  to  dance  with  her,  and  I  see  that 
he  is  uneasy  and  fidgety  wdien  she  stands  up  with  any  other 
partner  whom  he  could  care  about.  It  was  really  embar- 
rassing to  see  him  the  other  night  at  Miss  Dunstable's, 
when  Griselda  was  dancing  with  a  certain  friend  of  ours. 
But  she  did  look  very  well  that  evening,  and  I  have  seldom 
seen  her  more  animated !" 

All  this,  and  a  great  deal  more  of  the  same  sort  in  the 
same  letter,  tended  to  make  Lady  Lufton  anxious  to  be  in 
London.  It  w^as  quite  certain — there  was  no  doubt  of  that, 
at  any  rate — that  Griselda  would  see  no  more  of  Lady  Har- 
tletop's meretricious  grandeur  when  she  had  been  trans- 
ferred to  Lady  Lufton's  guardianship.  And  phe,  Lady  Luf- 
ton, did  wonder  that  Mrs.  Grantly  should  have  taken  her 
daughter  to  such  a  house.  All  about  Lady  Hartletop  w^as 
known  to  all  the  world.     It  w^as  known  that  it  w\as  almost 


FEAMLEY  PAESONAGE.  175 

the  only  house  in  London  at  which  the  Duke  of  Omnium 
was  constantly  to  be  met.  Lady  Lufton  herself  would  al- 
most as  soon  think  of  taking  a  young  girl  to  Gatherum 
Castle ;  and,  on  these  accounts,  she  did  feel  rather  angry 
with  her  friend  Mrs.  Grantly.  But  then  perhaps  she  did 
not  sufficiently  calculate  that  Mrs.  Grantly's  letter  had  been 
written  purposely  to  produce  such  feelings — with  the  ex- 
l^ress  view  of  awakening  her  ladyship  to  the  necessity  of 
action.  Indeed,  in  such  a  matter  as  this,  Mrs.  Grantly  was 
a  more  able  woman  than  Lady  Lufton— more  able  to  see 
her  way  and  to  follow  it  out.  The  Lufton-Grantly  alliance 
was  in  her  mind  the  best,  seeing  that  she  did  not  regard 
money  as  every  thing.  But,  failing  that,  the  Hartletop- 
Grantly  alliance  was  not  bad.  Regarding  it  as  a  second 
string  to  her  bow,  she  thought  that  it  was  not  at  all  bad. 

Lady  Lufton's  reply  was  very  affectionate.  She  declared 
how  hai^py  she  was  to  know  that  Griselda  was  enjoying 
herself;  she  insinuated  that  Lord  Dumbello  was  known  to 
the  world  as  a  fool,  and  his  mother  as — being  not  a  bit 
better  than  she  ought  to  be ;  and  then  she  added  that  cir- 
cumstances would  bring  herself  up  to  town  four  days  soon- 
er than  she  had  expected,  and  that  she  hoped  her  dear 
Griselda  would  come  to  her  at  once.  Lord  Lufton,  she 
said,  though  he  would  not  sleep  in  Bruton  Street — Lady 
Lufton  lived  in  Bruton  Street — had  promised  to  pass  there 
as  much  of  his  time  as  his  parliamentary  duties  would  per- 
mit. 

Oh  Lady  Lufton  !  Lady  Lufton !  did  it  not  occur  to  you, 
when  you  wrote  those  last  words,  intending  that  they 
should  have  so  strong  an  effect  on  the  mind  of  your  cor- 
respondent, that  you  were  telling  a — tarradiddle  ?  Was  it 
not  the  case  that  you  had  said  to  your  son,  in  your  own 
dear,  kind,  motherly  way,  "Ludovic,  we  shall  see  something 
of  you  in  Bruton  Street  this  year,  shall  we  not  ?  Griselda 
Grantly  will  be  with  me,  and  we  must  not  let  her  be  dull 
— must  we  ?"  And  then  'had  he  not  answered,  "  Oh,  of 
coiu'se,  mother,"  and  sauntered  out  of  the  room,  not  alto- 
gether graciously  ?  Had  he,  or  you,  said  a  word  about  his 
parliamentary  duties?  Not  a  word.  Oh,  Lady  Lufton, 
have  you  not  now  written  a  tarradiddle  to  your  friend  ? 

In  these  days  we  are  becoming  very  strict  about  truth 
with  our  children — terribly  strict  occasionally,  when  we 
consider  the  natural  weakness  of  the  moral  courage  at  the 


11 Q  FKAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

ages  of  ten,  twelve,  and  fourteen.  But  I  do  not  know  that 
we  are  at  all  increasing  the  measure  of  strictness  witli 
which  we,  grown-up  people,  regulate  our  own  truth  and 
falsehood.  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  be  thought  to  ad- 
vocate falsehood  in  children ;  but  an  untruth  is  more  par- 
donable in  them  than  in  their  parents.  Lady  Lufton's  tar- 
radiddle  was  of  a  nature  that  is  usually  considered  excus- 
able—  at  least  with  grown  people;  but,  nevertheless,  she 
would  have  been  nearer  to  perfection  could  she  liave  con- 
fined herself  to  the  truth.  Let  us  suppose  that  a  boy  were 
to  write  home  from  school  saying  that  another  boy  had 
promised  to  come  and  stay  Avith  him,  that  other  haviuLC 
given  no  such  promise — what  a  very  naughty  boy  would 
that  first  boy  be  in  the  eyes  of  his  pastors  and  masters ! 

That  little  conversation  between  Lord  Lufton  and  his 
mother,  in  which  nothing  was  said  about  his  lordsliip's  par- 
liamentary duties,  took  place  on  the  evening  before  he  start- 
ed for  London.  On  that  occasion  he  certainly  was  not  in 
his  best  humor,  nor  did  he  behave  to  his  mother  in  his 
kindest  manner.  He  had  then  left  the  room  when  she  be- 
gan to  talk  about  Miss  Grantly;  and  once  again  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,  when  his  mother,  not  very  judicious- 
ly, said  a  word  or  two  about  Griselda's  beauty,  he  had  re- 
marked that  she  was  no  conjurer,  and  would  hardly  set  the 
Thames  on  fire. 

"If  she  were  a  conjurer!"  said  Lady  Lufton,  rather 
piqued,  "  I  should  not  now  be  going  to  take  her  out  in  Lon- 
don. I  know  many  of  those  sort  of  girls  whom  you  call 
conjurers;  they  can  talk  forever,  and  always  talk  either 
loudly  or  in  a  whisper.  I  don't  like  them,  and  I  am  sure 
that  you  do  not  in  your  heart." 

"  Oh,  as  to  liking  them  in  my  lieart — that  is  being  very 
particular." 

"  Griselda  Grantly  is  a  lady,  and,  as  such,  I  shall  be  hap- 
py to  have  her  with  me  in  town.  She  is  just  the  girl  that 
Justinia  will  like  to  have  with  her." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Lord  Lufton.  "  She  will  do  exceeding- 
ly well  for  Justinia." 

Now  this  was  not  good-natured  on  the  part  of  Lord  Luf- 
ton ;  and  his  mother  felt  it  the  more  strongly,  inasmuch  as 
it  seemed  to  signify  that  he  was  setting  his  back  up  against 
the  Lufton-Grantly  alliance.  She  had  been  pretty  sure  that 
lie  would  do  so  in  the  event  of  his  suspecting  that  a  plot 


FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE.  Ill 

was  being  laid  to  catch  him,  and  now  it  almost  appeared 
that  he  did  suspect  such  a  plot.  Why  else  that  sarcasm  as 
to  Griselda  doing  very  well  for  his  sister  ? 

And  now  we  must  go  back  and  describe  a  little  scene  at 
Framley  which  will  account  for  his  lordship's  ill  humor  and 
suspicions,  and  explain  how  it  came  to  pass  that  he  so  snub- 
bed his  mother.  This  scene  took  place  about  ten  days  aft- 
er the  evening  on  which  Mrs.Robarts  and  Lucy  were  walk- 
ing together  in  the  Parsonage  garden,  and  during  those 
ten  days  Lucy  had  not  once  allowed  herself  to  be  entrap- 
ped into  any  special  conversation  with  the  young  peer. 
She  had  dined  at  Framley  Court  during  that  interval,  and 
liad  spent  a  second  evening  there;  Lord  Lufton  had  also 
been  up  at  the  Parsonage  on  three  or  four  occasions,  and 
had  looked  for  her  in  her  usual  walks ;  but,  nevertheless, 
they  had  never  come  together  in  their  old  familiar  way 
since  the  day  on  which  Lady  Lufton  had  hinted  her  fears 
to  Mrs.  Robarts. 

Lord  Lufton  had  very  much  missed  her.  At  first  he  had 
not  attributed  this  change  to  a  purposed  scheme  of  action 
on  the  part  of  any  one,  nor,  indeed,  had  he  much  thought 
about  it,  although  he  had  felt  himself  to  be  annoyed.  But, 
as  the  period  fixed  for  his  departure  grew  near,  it  did  occur 
to  him  as  very  odd  that  he  should  never  hear  Lucy's  voice 
unless  when  she  said  a  few  words  to  his  mother  or  to  her 
sister-hi-law.  And  then  he  made  up  his  mind  th^t  he  would 
speak  to  her  before  he  went,  and  that  the  mystery  should 
be  explained  to  him. 

And  he  carried  out  his  purpose,  calling  at  the  Parsonage 
on  one  special  afternoon  ;  and  it  was  on  the  evening,  of  the 
same  day  that  his  mother  sang  the  praises  of  Griselda 
Grantly  so  inopportunely.  Robarts,  he  knew,  was  then 
absent  from  home,  and  Mrs.  Robarts  was  with  his  mother 
down  at  the  house,  preparing  lists  of  the  poor  people  to  be 
specially  attended  to  in  Lady  Lufton's  approaching  absence. 
Taking  advantage  of  this,  he  walked  boldly  in  through  the 
Parsonage  garden  ;  asked  the  gardener,  with  an  indifferent 
voice,  whether  either  of  the  ladies  were  at  home,  and  then 
caught  poor  Lucy  exactly  on  the  door-step  of  the  house. 

"  Were  you  going  in  or  out.  Miss  Robarts  ?" 

"  Well,  I  was  going  out,"  said  Lucy ;  and  she  began  to 
consider  how  best  she  might  get  qifit  of  any  prolonged  en- 
counter. 

112 


1*78  FKA^ILEY   PAESONAGE. 

"  Oh,  going  out,  were  you  ?  I  don't  know  whether  I  may 
offer  to—" 

"  Well,  Lord  Lufton,  not  exactly,  seeing  that  I  am  about 
to  pay  a  ^^isit  to  our  near  neighbor,  Mrs.  Podgens.  Per- 
haps you  have  no  particular  call  toward  Mrs.  Podgens'  just 
at  present,  or  to  her  new  baby  ?'' 

"  And  have  you  any  very  particular  call  that  way  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  especially  to  Baby  Podgens.  Baby  Podgens 
is  a  real  little  duck — only  just  two  days  old."  And  Lucy, 
as  she  spoke,  progressed  a  step  or  two,  as  though  she  were 
determined  not  to  remain  there  talking  on  the  door-step. 

•  A  slight  cloud  came  across  his  brow  as  he  saw  this,  and 
made  him  resolve  that  she  should  not  gain  her  purpose. 
He  was  not  going  to  be  foiled  in  that  way  by  such  a  girl 
as  Lucy  Robarts.  He  had  come  there  to  sj)eak  to  her,  and 
speak  to  her  he  would.  There  had  been  enough  of  inti- 
macy between  them  to  justify  him  in  demanding,  at  any 
rate,  as  much  as  that. 

"  Miss  Robarts,"  he  said, "  I  am  starting  for  London  to- 
morrow, and  if  I  do  not  say  good-by  to  you  now,  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  do  so  at  all." 

"  Good-by,  Lord  Lufton,"  she  said,  giving  him  her  hand, 
and  smiling  on  him  with  her  old  genial,  good-humored, 
racy  smile.  "And  mind  you  bring  into  Parliament  that 
law  which  you  promised  me  for  defending  my  young  chick- 
ens." 

He  took  her  hand,  but  that  was  not  all  that  he  wanted. 
"  Surely  Mrs.  Podgens  and  her  baby  can  wait  ten  minutes. 
I  shall  not  see  you  again  for  months  to  come,  and  yet  you 
seem  to  begrudge  me  two  words." 

"  Not  two  hundred,  if  they  can  be  of  any  service  to  you," 
said  she,  walking  cheerily  back  into  the  drawing-room; 
"  only  I  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  waste  your  time, 
as  Fanny  is  not  here." 

She  was  infinitely  more  collected,  more  master  of  herself 
than  he  was.  Inwardly  she  did  tremble  at  the  idea  of  what 
was  coming,  but  outwardly  she  showed  no  agitation — none 
as  yet ;  if  only  she  could  so  possess  herself  as  to  refrain 
from  doing  so  when  she  heard  what  he  might  have  to  say 
to  her. 

He  hardly  knew  what  it  was  for  the  saying  of  which  he 
had  so  resolutely  come  thither.  He  had  by  no  means  made 
up  his  mind  that  he  loved  Lucy  Robarts,  nor  had  he  made 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  170 

up  his  mind  that,  loving  her,  he  would,  or  that,  loving  her, 
he  would  not,  make  her  his  wife.  He  had  never  used  his 
mind  in  the  matter  in  any  way,  either  for  good  or  evil.  He 
had  learned  to  like  her,  and  to  think  that  she  was  very 
pretty.  He  had  found  out  that  it  was  very  pleasant  to  talk 
to  her ;  whereas,  talking  to  Griselda  Grantly,  and,  indeed, 
to  some  other  young  ladies  of  his  acquaintance,  was  often 
hard  Avork.  The  half  hours  which  he  had  spent  with  Lucy 
had  always  been  satisfactory  to  him.  He  had  found  him- 
self to  be  more  bright  with  her  than  with  other  people, 
and  more  apt  to  discuss  subjects  worth  discussing,  and 
thus  it  had  come  about  that  he  thoroughly  liked  Lucy  Ro- 
barts.  As  to  whether  his  affection  was  Platonic  or  anti- 
Platonic  he  had  never  asked  himself;  but  he  had  spoken 
words  to  her,  shortly  before  that  sudden  cessation  of  their 
intimacy,  which  might  have  been  taken  as  anti-Platonic  by 
any  girl  so  disposed  to  regard  them.  He  had  not  thrown 
himself  at  her  feet,  and  declared  himself  to  be  devoured  by 
a  consuming  passion,  but  he  had  touched  her  hand  as  lovers 
touch  those  of  women  whom  they  love ;  he  had  had  his 
confidences  with  her,  talking  to  her  of  his  own  mother,  of 
his  sister,  and  of  his  friends,  and  he  had  called  her  his  own 
dear  friend  Lucy. 

All  this  had  been  very  sweet  to  her,  but  very  poisonous 
also.  She  had  declared  to  herself  very  frequently  that  her 
liking  for  this  young  nobleman  was  as  purely  a  feeling  of 
mere  friendship  as  was  that  of  her  brother,  and  she  had 
professed  to  herself  that  she  would  give  the  lie  to  the 
world's  cold  sarcasms  on  such  subjects.  But  she  had  now 
acknowledged  that  the  sarcasms  of  the  world  on  that  mat- 
ter, cold  though  they  may  be,  are  not  the  less  true ;  and, 
having  so  acknowledged,  she  had  resolved  that  all  close  al- 
liance between  herself  and  Lord  Lufton  must  be  at  an  end. 
She  had  come  to  a  conclusion,  but  he  had  come  to  none ; 
and  in  this  frame  of  mind  he  was  now  there  with  the  ob- 
ject of  reopening  that  dangerous  friendship  which  she  had 
had  the  sense  to  close. 

"  And  so  you  are  going  to-morrow  ?"  she  said,  as  soon 
as  they  were  both  within  the  drawing-room. 

"  Yes ;  I'm  off  by  the  early  train  to-morrow  morning, 
and  Heaven  knows  when  we  may  meet  again." 

"  Next  winter,  shall  we  not  ?" 

"Yes,  for  a  day  or  two,  I  suppose.     I  do  not  know 


180  FEAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

whether  I  shall  pass  another  winter  here.  Indeed,  one  can 
never  say  where  one  will  be." 

"  No,  one  can't ;  such  as  you,  at  least,  can  not.  I  am  not 
of  a  migratory  tribe  myself." 

"  I  wish  you  were." 

"  I'm  not  a  bit  obliged  to  you.  Your  nomade  life  does 
not  agree  with  young  ladies." 

"  I  think  they  are  taking  to  it  pretty  freely,  then.  We 
have  unprotected  young  women  all  about  the  world." 

"  And  great  bores  you  find  them,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  No ;  I  like  it.  The  more  we  can  get  out  of  old-fashion- 
ed grooves,  the  better  I  am  pleased.  I  should  be  a  Radi- 
cal to-morrow — a  regular  man  of  the  peoj)le — only  I  should 
break  my  mother's  heart." 

"  Whatever  you  do,  Lord  Lufton,  do  not  do  that." 

"That  is  why  I  have  liked  you  so  much,"  he  contin- 
ued, "  because  you  get  out  of  the  grooves." 

"Do  I?" 

"  Yes ;  and  go  along  by  yourself,  guiding  your  own  foot- 
steps ;  not  carried  hitlier  and  thither,  just  as  your  grand- 
mother's old  tramway  may  chance  to  take  you." 

"Do  you  know  I  have  a  strong  idea  that  my  grand- 
mother's old  tramway  will  be  the  safest  and  the  best,  after 
all  ?  I  have  not  left  it  very  far,  and  I  certainly  mean  to 
go  back  to  it." 

"  That's  impossible !  An  army  of  old  women,  with  coils 
of  ropes  made  out  of  time-honored  prejudices,  could  not 
drag  you  back." 

"  No,  Lord  Lufton,  that  is  true.  But  one — "  and  then 
she  stopped  herself  She  could  not  tell  him  that  one  lov- 
ing mother,  anxious  for  her  only  son,  had  sufficed  to  do  it. 
She  could  not  explain  to  him  that  this  departure  from  the 
established  tramway  had  already  broken  her  own  rest,  and 
turned  her  peaceful,  happy  life  into  a  grievous  battle. 

"  I  know  that  you  are  trying  to  go  back,"  he  said.  "  Do 
you  think  that  I  have  eyes  and  can  not  see  ?  Come,  Lucy, 
you  and  I  have  been  friends,  and  we  must  not  part  in  this 
way.  My  mother  is  a  paragon  among  women.  I  say  it 
in  earnest — a  paragon  among  women  ;  and  her  love  for  me 
i«  the  perfection  of  motherly  love." 

"  It  is,  it  is ;  and  I  am  so  glad  that  vou  acknowledge 
it." 

"I  should  be  worse  than  a  brute  did  I  not  do  so;  but. 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  181 

nevertheless,  I  can  not  allow  her  to  lead  me  in  all  tlnngs. 
Were  I  to  do  so,  1  should  cease  to  be  a  man." 

"  Where  can  you  find  any  one  who  will  counsel  you  so 
truly  ?" 

"  But,  nevertheless,  I  must  rule  myself.  I  do  not  know 
whether  my  suspicions  may  be  perfectly  just,  but  I  fancy 
that  she  has  created  this  estrangement  between  you  and 
me.     Has  it  not  been  so  ?" 

*'  Certainly  not  by  speaking  to  me,"  said  Lucy,  blushing 
ruby-red  through  every  vein  of  her  deep-tinted  face.  But, 
though  she  could  not  command  her  blood,  her  voice  was 
still  under  her  control — her  voice  and  her  manner. 

"But  has  she  not  done  so?  You,  I  know,  will  tell  mo 
nothing  but  the  truth." 

"  I  will  tell  you  nothing  on  this  matter,  Lord  Lufton, 
whether  true  or  false.  It  is  a  subject  on  which  it  does  not 
concern  me  to  speak." 

"  Ah  !  I  understand,"  he  said ;  and,  rising  from  his  chair, 
he  stood  against  the  chimney-piece  with  his  back  to  the 
fire.  "  She  can  not  leave  me  alone  to  choose  for  myself  my 
own  friends,  and  my  own — "  but  he  did  not  fill  up  the 
void. 

"  But  why  tell  me  this,  Lord  Lufton  ?" 

"  No,  I  am  not  to  choose  my  own  friends,  though  they 
be  among  the  best  and  purest  of  God's  creatures.  Lucy, 
I  can  not  think  that  you  have  ceased  to  have  a  regard  for 
me.     That  you  had  a  regard  for  me  I  am  sure." 

She  felt  that  it  Avas  almost  unmanly  of  him  thus  to  seek 
her  out,  and  hunt  her  down,  and  then  throw  upon  her  the 
whole  weight  of  the  explanation  that  his  coming  thither 
made  necessary.  But,  nevertheless,  the  truth  must  be  told, 
and  with  God's  help  she  would  find  strength  for  the  telling 
of  it. 

"Yes,  Lord  Lufton,  I  had  a  regard  for  you — and  have. 
By  that  word  you  mean  something  more  than  the  custom- 
ary feeling  of  acquaintance  Avhich  may  ordinarily  prevail 
between  a  gentleman  and  lady  of  different  families,  who 
have  known  each  other  so  short  a  time  as  we  have  done?" 

"  Yes,  something  mucli  more,"  said  he,  with  energy. 

"Well,  I  will  not  define  the  much — something  closer 
than  that." 

"Yes,  and  warmer,  and  dearer,  and  more  wortliy  of  two 
human  creatures  who  value  each  other's  minds  and  hearts." 


182  PEAMLEY  PAESONAGE. 

"  Some  such  closer  regard  I  have  felt  for  you — very  fool- 
ishly. Stop !  You  have  made  me  speak,  and  do  not  in- 
terrupt me  now.  Does  not  your  conscience  tell  you  that 
in  doing  so  I  have  unwisely  deserted  those  wise  old  grand- 
mother's tramways  of  which  you  spoke  just  now  ?  It  has 
been  pleasant  to  me  to  do  so.  I  have  liked  the  feeling  of 
independence  with  which  I  have  thought  that  I  might  in- 
dulge in  an  open  friendship  with  such  as  you  are.  And  your 
rank,  so  different  from  my  own,  has  doubtless  made  this 
more  attractive." 

"  Nonsense." 

"  Ah  !  but  it  has.  I  know  it  now.  But  what  will  the 
world  say  of  me  as  to  such  an  alliance  ?" 

"The  world!" 

"  Yes,  the  world !  I  am  not  such  a  philosopher  as  to  dis- 
regard it,  though  you  may  afford  to  do  so.  The  world  will 
say  that  I,  the  parson's  sister,  set  my  cap  at  the  young  lord, 
and  that  the  young  lord  had  made  a  fool  of  me." 

"The  world  shall  say  no  such  thing!"  said  Lord  Lufton, 
very  imperiously. 

"Ah  !  but  it  Avill.  You  can  no  more  stop  it  than  King 
Canute  could  the  waters.  Your  mother  has  interfered  wise- 
ly to  spare  me  from  this ;  and  the  only  favor  that  I  can  ask 
you  is  that  you  will  spare  me  also."  And  then  she  got  up 
as  though  she  intended  at  once  to  walk  forth  to  her  visit 
to  Mrs.  Podgens'  baby. 

"  Stop,  Lucy !"  he  said,  j)utting  himself  between  her  and 
the  door. 

"  It  must  not  be  Lucy  any  longer.  Lord  Lufton ;  I  was 
madly  foolish  when  I  first  allowed  it." 

"  By  heavens !  but  it  shall  be  Lucy — Lucy  before  all  the 
world.  My  Lucy,  my  own  Lucy — my  heart's  best  friend 
and  chosen  love.  Lucy,  there  is  my  hand.  How  long  you 
may  have  had  my  heart  it  matters  not  to  say  now." 

The  game  was  at  her  feet  now,  and  no  doubt  she  felt  her 
triumjih.  Her  ready  wit  and  speaking  lip,  not  her  beauty, 
had  brought  him  to  her  side,  and  now  he  was  forced  to  ac- 
knowledge that  her  power  over  him  had  been  supreme. 
Sooner  than  leave  her  he  would  risk  all.  She  did  feel  her 
triumph,  but  there  was  nothing  in  her  face  to  tell  him  that 
she  did  so. 

As  to  what  she  would  now  do  she  did  not  for  a  moment 
doubt.     He  had  been  precipitated  into  the  declaration  he 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  183 

had  made,  not  by  his  love,  but  by  his  embarrassment.  She 
had  thrown  in  his  teeth  the  injury  which  he  had  done  her, 
and  he  had  then  been  moved  by  his  generosity  to  repair 
that  injury  by  the  noblest  sacrifice  which  he  could  make. 
But  Lucy  Robarts  was  not  the  girl  to  accept  a  sacrifice. 

He  had  stepped  forward  as  though  he  were  going  to 
clasp  her  round  the  waist,  but  she  receded,  and  got  beyond 
the  reach  of  his  hand.  "  Lord  Lufton !"  she  said,  "  when 
you  are  more  cool  you  will  know  that  this  is  wrong.  The 
best  thing  for  both  of  us  now  is  to  part." 

"  Not  the  best  thing,  but  the  very  worst,  till  we  perfectly 
understand  each  other." 

"  Then  perfectly  understand  me,  that  I  can  not  be  your 
wife." 

"  Lucy !  do  you  mean  that  you  can  not  learn  to  love  me  ?" 

"  I  mean  that  I  shall  not  try.  Do  not  persevere  in  this, 
or  you  will  have  to  hate  yourself  for  your  own  folly." 

"  But  I  will  persevere  till  you  accept  my  love,  or  say, 
with  your  hand  on  your  heart,  that  you  can  not  and  will 
not  love  me." 

"  Then  I  must  beg  you  to  let  me  go ;"  and,  having  so 
said,  she  paused  while  he  walked  once  or  twice  hurriedly 
up  and  down  the  room.  *'  And,  Lord  Lufton,"  she  contin- 
ued, "  if  you  will  leave  me  now,  the  words  that  you  have 
spoken  shall  be  as  though  they  had  never  been  uttered." 

"I  care  not  who  knows  that  they  have  been  uttered. 
The  sooner  that  they  are  known  to  all  the  world,  the  bet- 
ter I  shall  be  pleased,  unless,  indeed — " 

"Think  of  your  mother,  Lord  Lufton." 

"  What  can  I  do  better  than  give  her  as  a  daughter  the 
best  and  sweetest  girl  I  have  ever  met  ?  When  my  mother 
really  knows  you,  she  will  love  you  as  I  do.  Lucy,  say  one 
word  to  me  of  comfort." 

"I  Avill  say  no  word  to  you  that  shall  injure  your  future 
comfort.     It  is  impossible  that  I  should  be  your  wife." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  can  not  love  me  ?" 

"  You  have  no  right  to  press  me  any  farther,"  she  said, 
and  sat  down  upon  the  sofa,  with  an  angry  frown  upon  her 
forehead. 

"By  heavens!"  he  said,  "I  will  take  no  such  answer 
from  you  till  you  put  your  hand  upon  your  heart  and  say 
that  you  can  not  love  me." 

"  Oh,  why  should  you  press  me  so,  Lord  Lufton  ?" 


184  FEAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

*'  Why !  because  my  happiness  depends  upon  it ;  because 
it  behooves  me  to  know  the  very  truth.  It  has  come  to 
this,  that  I  love  you  with  my  whole  heart,  and  I  must  know 
how  your  heart  stands  toward  me." 

She  had  now  again  risen  from  the  sofa,  and  was  looking 
steadily  in  his  face. 

"  Lord  Lufton,J'  she  said,  "  I  can  not  love  you,"  and  as 
she  spoke  she  did  put  her  hand,  as  he  had  desired,  upon  her 
heart. 

"  Then  God  help  me,  for  I  am  very  wretched.  Good-by, 
Lucy,"  and  he  stretched  out  liis  hand  to  her. 

"  Good-by,  my  lord.     l)o  not  be  angry  with  me." 

"No,  no,  no!"  and,  without  farther  speech,  he  left  the 
room  and  the  house,  and  hurried  home.  It  was  hardly  sur- 
prising that  he  should  that  evening  tell  his  mother  that 
Griselda  Grantly  would  be  a  companion  sufficiently  good 
for  his  sister.     He  wanted  no  such  companion. 

And  when  he  was  well  gone — absolutely  out  of  sight 
from  the  window — ^Lucy  walked  steadily  up  to  her  room, 
locked  the  door,  and  then  threw  herself  on  the  bed.  Why 
— oh !  why  had  she  told  such  a  falsehood  ?  Could  any 
thing  justify  her  in  a  lie  ?  Was  it  not  a  lie,  knowing  as 
she  did  that  she  loved  him  with  all  her  loving  heart  ? 

But  then  his  mother !  and  the  sneers  of  the  world,  which 
would  have  declared  that  she  had  set  her  trap,  and  caught 
the  foolish  young  lord !  Her  pride  would  not  have  sub- 
mitted to  that.  Strong  as  her  love  was,  yet  her  pride  was 
perhaps  stronger — stronger,  at  any  rate,  during  that  inter- 
view. 

But  how  was  she  to  forgive  herself  the  falsehood  she  had 
told? 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


It  was  grievous  to  think  of  the  mischief  and  danger  into 
which  Griselda  Grantly  was  brought  by  the  worldliness  of 
her  mother  in  those  few  weeks  previous  to  Lady  Lufton's 
arrival  in  town — very  grievous,  at  least,  to  her  ladyship,  as 
from  time  to  time  she  heard  of  Avhat  was  done  in  London. 
Lady  Hartletop's  was  not  the  only  objectionable  house  at 
which  Griselda  was  allowed  to  reap  fresh  fashionable  lau- 


''  WAS  IT  NOT  A  LIE  ? 


FRAMLEY   PAESONAGE.  18V 

rels.  It  had  been  stated  openly  in  the  Morning  Post  that 
that  young  lady  had  been  the  most  admired  among  the 
beautiful  at  one  of  Miss  Dunstable's  celebrated  soirees^  and 
then  she  was  heard  of  as  gracing  the  drawing-room  at  Mrs. 
Proudie's  conversazione. 

Of  Miss  Dunstable  herself  Lady  Lufton  was  not  able 
openly  to  allege  any  evil.  She  was  acquainted,  Lady  Luf- 
ton knew,  with  very  many  people  of  the  right  sort,  and  was 
the  dear  friend  of  Lady  Lufton's  highly  conservative  and 
not  very  distant  neighbors,  the  Greshams.  But  then  she 
was  also  acquainted  with  so  many  people  of  the  bad  sort. 
Indeed,  she  was  intimate  with  every  body,  from  the  Duke 
of  Omnium  to  old  Dowager  Lady  Goodygaffer,  who  had 
represented  all  the  cardinal  virtues  for  the  last  quarter  of 
a  century.  She  smiled  with  equal  sweetness  on  treacle  and 
on  brimstone ;  was  quite  at  home  at  Exeter  Hall,  having 
been  consulted — so  the  world  said,  probably  not  with  ex- 
act truth — as  to  the  selection  of  more  than  one  disagree- 
ably Low-Church  bishop ;  and  was  not  less  frequent  in  her 
attendance  at  the  ecclesiastical  doings  of  a  certain  terrible 
prelate  in  the  midland  counties,  who  was  supposed  to  favor 
stoles  and  vespers,  and  to  have  no  proper  Protestant  hatred 
for  auricular  confession  and  fish  on  Fridays.  Lady  Lufton, 
who  was  very  stanch,  did  not  like  this,  and  would  say  of 
Miss  Dunstable  that  it  was  impossible  to  serve  both  God 
and  Mammon. 

But  Mrs.  Proudie  was  much  more  objectionable  to  her. 
Seeing  how  sharp  was  the  feud  between  the  Proudies  and 
the  Grantlys  down  in  Barsetshire,  how  absolutely  unable 
they  had  always  been  to  carry  a  decent  fact)  toward  each 
other  in  Church  matters,  how  they  headed  two  parties  in 
the  diocese,  which  were,  when  brought  together,  as  oil  and 
vinegar,  in  which  battles  the  whole  Lufton  influence  had 
always  been  brought  to  bear  on  the  Grantly  side — seeing 
all  this,  I  say.  Lady  Lufton  was  surprised  to  hear  that  Gri- 
selda  had  been  taken  to  Mrs.  Proudie's  evening  exhibition. 
"  Had  the  archdeacon  been  consulted  about  it,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "this  would  never  have  happened."  But  there  she 
was  wrong,  for  in  matters  concerning  his  daughter's  intro- 
duction to  the  world  the  archdeacon  never  interfered. 

On  the  whole,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  Mrs.  Grantly 
understood  the  world  better  than  did  Lady  Lufton.  In 
her  heart  of  hearts  Mrs.  Grantly  hated  Mrs.  Proudie — that 


188  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

is,  with  tliat  sort  of  hatred  one  Christian  hidy  allows  her- 
self to  feel  toward  another.  Of  course  Mrs.  Grantly  for- 
gave Mrs.  Proudie  all  her  offenses,  and  wished  her  well,  and 
Avas  at  peace  with  her,  in  the  Christian  sense  of  the  word, 
as  with  all  other  women.  But  under  this  forbearance  and 
meekness,  and  perhaps,  we  may  say,  wholly  unconnected 
with  it,  there  was  certainly  a  current  of  antagonistic  feel- 
ing which,  in  the  ordinary  unconsidered  language  of  every 
day,  men  and  women  do  call  hatred.  This  raged  and  was 
strong  throughout  the  whole  year  in  Barsetshire,  before  the 
eyes  of  all  mankind.  But,  nevertheless,  Mrs.  Grantly  took 
Griselda  to  Mrs.  Proudie's  evening  parties  in  London. 

In  these  days  Mrs.  Proudie  considered  herself  to  be  by 
no  means  the  least  among  bishops'  wives.  She  had  opened 
the  season  this  year  in  a  new  house  in  Gloucester  Place,  at 
which  the  reception-rooms,  at  any  rate,  were  all  that  a  lady 
bishop  could  desire.  Here  she  had  a  front  drawing-room 
of  very  noble  dimensions ;  a  second  drawing-room  rather 
noble  also,  though  it  had  lost  one  of  its  back  corners  awk- 
Avardly  enough,  apparently  in  a  jostle  with  the  neighboring 
house ;  and  then  there  was  a  third — shall  we  say  drawing- 
room  or  closet  ? — in  which  Mrs.  Proudie  dehghted  to  be 
seen  sitting,  in  order  that  the  world  might  know  that  therd 
w^as  a  third  room ;  altogether  a  noble  suite,  as  Mrs.  Proudie 
herself  said  in  confidence  to  more  than  one  clergyman's  wife 
from  Barsetshire.  "A  noble  suite,  indeed,  Mrs.  Proudie !" 
the  clergymen's  wives  from  Barsetshire  would  usually  an- 
swer. 

For  some  time  Mrs.  Proudie  was  much  at  a  loss  to  know 
by  what  sort  -of  party  or  entertainment  she  would  make 
herself  famous.  Balls  and  suppers  were  of  course  out  of 
the  question.  She  did  not  object  to  her  daughters  dancing 
all  night  at  other  houses — at  least,  of  late  she  had  not  ob- 
jected, for  the  fashionable  world  required  it,  and  the  young 
ladies  had  perhaps  a  will  of  their  own — but  dancing  at  her 
house — absolutely  under  the  shade  of  the  bishop's  apron — 
Avould  be  a  sin  and  a  scandal.  And  then  as  to  suppers — 
of  all  modes  in  which  one  may  extend  one's  hospitality  to 
a  large  acquaintance,  they  are  the  most  costly. 

"  It  is  horrid  to  think  that  we  should  go  out  among  our 
friends  for  the  mere  sake  of  eating  and  drinking,"  Mrs. 
Proudie  would  say  to  the  clergymen's  wives  fronr  Barset- 
shire.    "  It  shows  such  a  sensual  propensity." 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  189 

"ludeed  it  does, Mrs. Proudie ;  and  is  so  vulgar  too!" 
those  ladies  would  reply. 

But  the  elder  among  themwould  remember  with  regret 
the  unsparing,  open-handed  hospitality  of  Barchester  palace 
in  the  good  old  days  of  Bishop  Grantly — God  rest  his  soul ! 
One  old  vicar's  wife  there  was  whose  answer  had  not  been 
so  courteous : 

"  When  Ave  are  hungry,  Mrs.  Proudie,"  she  had  said, 
"  we  do  all  have  sensual  propensities." 

"  It  would  be  much  better,  Mrs.  Athill,  if  the  world  would 
provide  for  all  that  at  home,"  Mrs.  Proudie  had  rapidly  re- 
plied ;  with  which  opinion  I  must  here  profess  that  I  can 
not  by  any  means  bring  myself  to  coincide. 

But  a  conversazione  would  give  play  to  no  sensual  pro- 
pensity, nor  occasion  that  intolerable  expense  which  the 
gratification  of  sensual  propensities  too  often  produces. 
Mrs.  Proudie  felt  that  the  word  was  not  all  that  she  could 
have  desired.  It  was  a  little  faded  by  old  use  and  present 
oblivion,  and  seemed  to  address  itself  to  that  portion  of  the 
London  world  that  is  considered  blue  rather  than  fashion- 
able. But,  nevertheless,  there  was  a  spirituality  about  it 
which  suited  her,  and  one  may  also  say  an  economy.  And 
then,  as  regarded  fashion,  it  might,  perhaps,  not  be  beyond 
the  power  of  a  Mrs.  Proudie  to  regild  the  word  with  a 
newly-burnished  gilding.  Some  leading  person  must  pro- 
duce fashion  at  first  hand,  and  why  not  Mrs.  Proudie  ? 

Her  plan  was  to  set  the  people  by  the  ears  talking,  if 
talk  they  would,  or  to  induce  them  to  show  themselves 
there  inert,  if  no  more  could  be  got  from  them.  To  ac- 
commodate with  chairs  and  sofas  as  many  as  the  furniture 
of  her  noble  suite  of  rooms  would  allow,  especially  with 
the  two  chairs  and  padded  bench  against  the  wall  in  the 
back  closet — the  small  inner  drawing-room,  as  she  would 
call  it  to  the  clergymen's  wives  from  Barsetshire — and  to 
let  the  others  stand  about  upright,  or  "  group  themselves," 
as  she  described  it.  Then  four  times  during  the  two  hours' 
period  of  her  conversazione  tea  and  cake  was  to  be  handed 
round  on  salvers.  It  is  astonishing  how  far  a  \erj  little 
cake  will  go  in  this  way,  particularly  if  administered  toler- 
ably early  after  dinner.  The  men  can't  eat  it,  and  the 
women,  having  no  plates  and  no  table,  are  obliged  to  ab- 
stain. Mrs.  Jones  knows  that  she  can  not  hold  a  piece  of 
crumbly  cake  in  her  hand  till  it  be  consumed  without  do- 


190  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

ing  serious  injury  to  her  best  dress.  When  Mrs.  Proudie, 
with  her  weekly  books  before  her,  looked  into  the  financial 
upshot  of  her  conversazione,  her  conscience  told  her  that 
she  had  done  the  right  thing. 

Going  out  to  tea  is  not  a  bad  thing,  if  one  can  contrive 
to^  dine  early,  and  then  be  allowed  to  sit  round  a  big  table 
with  a  tea-urn  in  the  middle.  I  would,  however,  suggest 
that  breakfast-cuj)s  should  always  be  provided  for  the  gen- 
tlemen. And  then  with  pleasant  neighbors — or  more  es- 
pecially with  a  pleasant  neighbor,  the  affair  is  not,  accord- 
ing to  my  taste,  by  any  means  the  worst  phase  of  society. 
But  I  do  dislike  that  handing  round,  unless  it  be  of  a  sub- 
sidiary thimbleful  when  the  business  of  the  social  inter- 
course has  been  dinner. 

And,  indeed,  this  handing  round  has  become  a  vulgar 
and  an  intolerable  nuisance  among  us  second-class  gentry 
with  our  eight  hundred  a  year — there  or  thereabouts — 
doubly  intolerable  as  being  destructive  of  our  natural  com- 
forts, and  a  wretchedly  vulgar  aping  of  men  with  large  in- 
comes. The  Duke  of  Omnium  and  Lady  Hartletop  are  un- 
doubtedly wise  to  have  every  thing  handed  round.  Friends 
of  mine  who  occasionally  dine  at  such  houses  tell  me  that 
they  get  their  wine  quite  as  quickly  as  they  can  drink  it, 
that  their  mutton  is  brought  to  them  without  delay,  and 
that  the  potato-bearer  follows  quick  upon  the  heels  of  car- 
nifer.  Nothing  can  be  more  comfortable,  and  we  may  no 
doubt  acknowledge  that  these  first-class  grandees  do  under- 
stand their  material  comforts.  But  we  of  the  eight  hundred 
can  no  more  come  up  to  them  in  this  than  we  can  in  their 
oj^era-boxes  and  equipages.  May  I  not  say  that  the  usual 
tether  of  this  class,  in  the  way  of  carnifers,  cup-bearers,  and 
the  rest,  does  not  reach  beyond  neat-handed  Phyllis  and  the 
green-grocer?  and  that  Phillis,  neat-handed  as  she  probably 
is,  and  the  green-grocer,  though  he  be  ever  so  active,  can 
not  administer  a  dinner  to  twelve  people  who  are  prohibit- 
ed by  a  Medo-Persian  law  from  all  self-administration  what- 
ever ?  And  may  I  not  farther  say  that  the  lamentable  con- 
sequence to  us  eight  hundreders  dining  out  among  each 
other  is  this,  that  we  too  often  get  no  dinner  at  all.  Phyl- 
lis, with  the  potatoes,  can  not  reach  us  till  our  mutton 
is  devoured,  or  in  a  lukewarm  state,  past  our  power  of 
managing ;  and  Ganymede,  the  green-grocer,  though  we 
admire   the   skill  of  his  neck-tie  and  the  whiteness   of 


FBAMLEY  PARSONAGE.  191 

his  unexceptionable  gloves,  fails  to  keep  us  going  in  sher- 
ry. 

Seeing  a  lady  the  other  day  in  this  strait,  left  without  the 
small  modicum  of  stimulus  which  was  no  doubt  necessary 
for  her  good  digestion,  I  ventured  to  ask  her  to  drink  wine 
with  me.  But  when  I  bowed  my  head  at  her,  she  looked 
at  me  with  all  her  eyes,  struck  with  amazement.  Had  I 
suggested  that  she  should  join  me  in  a  wild  Indian  war- 
dance,  with  nothing  on  but  my  paint,  her  face  could  not 
have  shown  greater  astonishment.  And  yet  I  should  have 
thought  she  might  have  remembered  the  days  when  Chris- 
tian men  and  women  used  to  drink  wine  with  each  other. 

God  be  with  the  good  old  days  when  I  could  hobnob 
with  my  friend  over  the  table  as  often  as  I  was  inclined  to 
lift  my  glass  to  my  lips,  and  make  a  long  arm  for  a  hot  po- 
tato whenever  the  exigencies  of  my  plate  required  it. 

I  think  it  may  be  laid  down  as  a  rule  in  affairs  of  hospital- 
ity that  whatever  extra  luxury  or  grandeur  we  introduce 
at  our  tables  when  guests  are  with  us,  should  be  introduced 
for  the  advantage  of  the  guest,  and  not  for  our  own.  If, 
for  instance,  our  dinner  be  served  in  a  manner  different  from 
that  usual  to  us,  it  should  be  so  served  in  order  that  our 
friends  may  with  more  satisfaction  eat  our  repast  than  our 
every-day  practice  would  produce  on  them.  But  the  change 
should  by  no  means  be  made  to  their  material  detriment  in 
order  that  our  fashion  may  be  acknowledged.  Again,  if  I 
decorate  my  sideboard  and  table,  wishing  that  the  eyes  of 
my  visitors  may  rest  on  that  which  is  elegant  and  pleasing 
to  the  sight,  I  act  in  that  matter  with  a  becoming  sense  of 
hospitality ;  but  if  my  object  be  to  kill  Mrs.  Jones  with 
envy  at  the  sight  of  all  my  silver  trinkets,  I  am  a  mean- 
spirited  fellow.  This,  in  a  broad  way,  will  be  acknowl- 
edged ;  but  if  we  would  bear  in  mind  the  same  idea  at  all 
times — on  occasions  when  the  way,  perhaps,  may  not  be  so 
broad,  when  more  thinking  may  be  required  to  ascertain 
what  is  true  hospitality,  I  think  we  of  the  eight  hundred 
would  make  a  greater  advance  toward  really  entertaining 
our  own  friends  than  by  any  rearrangement  of  the  actual 
meats  and  dishes  which  we  set  before  them. 

Knowing,  as  we  do,  that  the  terms  of  the  Lufton-Grantly 
alliance  had  been  so  solemnly  ratified  between  the  two 
mothers,  it  is  perhaps  hardly  open  to  us  to  suppose  that 
Mrs.  Grantly  was  induced  to  take  her  daughter  to  Mrs. 


192  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

Proudie's  by  any  knowledge  which  she  may  have  acquired 
that  Lord  Diunbello  had  promised  to  grace  the  bishop'^ 
assembly.  It  is  certainly  the  fact  that  high  contracting 
parties  do  sometimes  allow  themselves  a  latitude  which 
would  be  considered  dishonest  by  contractors  of  a  lower 
sort,  and  it  may  be  possible  that  the  archdeacon's  wife  did 
think  of  that  second  string  with  which  her  bow  was  furnish- 
ed. Be  that  as  it  may,  Lord  Dumbello  was  at  Mrs.  Proud- 
ie's, and  it  did  so  come  to  pass  that  Griselda  was  seated  at 
the  corner  of  a  sofa  close  to  which  was  a  vacant  space  in 
which  his  lordship  could — "  group  himself." 

They  had  not  been  long  there  before  Lord  Dumbello  did 
group  himself.  "  Fine  day,"  he  said,  coming  up  and  occu- 
pying the  vacant  position  by  Miss  Grantly's  elbow. 

"We  were  driving  to-day,  and  we  thought  it  rather 
cold,"  said  Griselda. 

"Deuced  cold,"  said  Lord  Dumbello;  and  then  he  ad- 
justed his  white  cravat  and  touched  up  his  whiskers.  Hav- 
ing got  so  far,  he  did  not  proceed  to  any  other  immediate 
conversational  efforts  ;  nor  did  Griselda.  But  he  grouped 
himself  again  as  became  a  marquis,  and  gave  very  intense 
satisfaction  to  Mrs.  Proudie. 

"This  is  so  kind  of  you.  Lord  Dumbello,"  said  that  lady, 
coming  up  to  him  and  shaking  his  hand  warmly — "  so  very 
kind  of  you,  to  come  to  my  poor  little  tea-party." 

"  Uncommon  pleasant,  I  call  it,"  said  his  lordship.  "  I 
like  this  sort  of  thing — no  trouble,  you  know\" 

"  N'o,  that  is  the  charm  of  it ;  isn't  it  ?  no  trouble,  or  fuss, 
or  parade.  That's  what  I  always  say.  According  to  my 
ideas,  society  consists  in  giving  people  facility  for  an  inter- 
change of  thoughts — what  w^e  call  conversation." 

"  Aw,  yes,  exactly." 

"Not  in  eating  and  drinking  together — eh, Lord  Dum- 
bello ?  And  yet  the  practice  of  our  lives  would  seem  to 
show  that  the  indulgence  of  those  animal  propensities  can 
alone  suffice  to  bring  people  together.  The  world,  in  this, 
has  surely  made  a  great  mistake." 

"  I  like  a  good  dinner  all  the  same,"  said  Lord  Dumbello. 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course — of  course.  I  am  by  no  means  one 
of  those  who  would  pretend  to  preach  that  our  tastes  have 
not  been  given  to  us  for  our  enjoyment.  Why  should 
things  be  nice  if  we  are  not  to  like  them  ?" 

"A  man  who  can  really  give  a  good  dinner  has  learned 


FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  193 

a  great  deal,"  said  Lord  Diiinbello,  with  unusual  anima- 
tion. 

"  An  immense  deal.  It  is  quite  an  art  in  itself,  and  one 
which  I,  at  any  rate,  by  no  means  despise.  But  we  can 
not  always  be  eating — can  we  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Lord  DumbellO,  "  not  always."  And  he 
looked  as  though  he  lamented  that  his  powers  should  be 
so  circumscribed. 

And  then  Mrs.  Proudie  passed  on  to  Mrs.  Grantly.  The 
two  ladies  were  quite  friendly  in  London,  though  down  in 
their  own  neighborhood  they  waged  a  war  so  internecine 
in  its  nature.  But,  nevertheless,  Mrs.  Proudie's  manner 
might  have  showed  to  a  very  close  observer  that  she  knew 
the  difference  between  a  bishop  and  an  archdeacon.  "I 
am  so  delighted  to  see  you,"  said  she.  *'  No,  don't  mind 
moving  ;  I  won't  sit  down  just  at  present.  But  why  didn't 
the  archdeacon  come  ?" 

"  It  was  quite  impossible — it  was,  indeed,"  said  Mrs. 
Grantly.  "  The  archdeacon  never  has  a  moment  in  Lon- 
don that  he  can  call  his  own." 

"  You  don't  stay  up  very  long,  I  believe  ?" 

"  A  good  deal  longer  than  we  either  of  us  like,  I  can  as- 
sure you.     London  life  is  a  perfect  nuisance  to  me." 

"  But  people  in  a  certain  position  must  go  through  with 
it,  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Proudie.  "  The  bishop,  for  in- 
stance, must  attend  the  house." 

"  Must  he  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Grantly,  as  though  she  were  not 
at  all  well  informed  with  reference  to  this  branch  of  a 
bishop's  business.  "  I  am  very  glad  that  archdeacons  are 
under  no  such  liability." 

"  Oh  no,  there's  nothing  of  that  sort,"  said  Mrs.  Proudie, 
very  seriously.  "  But  how  uncommonly  well  Miss  Grantly 
is  looking !     I  do  hear  that  she  has  quite  been  admired." 

This  phrase  certainly  was  a  little  hard  for  the  mother  to 
bear.  AH  the  world  had  acknowledged,  so  Mrs.  Grantly 
had  taught  herself  to  believe,  that  Griselda  was  undoubted- 
ly the  beauty  of  the  season.  Marquises  and  lords  were 
already  contending  for  her  smiles,  and  paragraphs  had  been 
written  in  newspapers  as  to  her  profile.  It  was  too  hard 
to  be  told,  after  that,  that  her  daughter  had  been  "  quite 
admired."  Such  a  phrase  might  suit  a  pretty  little  red- 
cheeked  milkmaid  of  a  girl. 

"  She  can  not,  of  course,  come  near  your  girls  in  that  re- 


194  FBAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

spect,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly,  very  quietly.  Now  the  Miss 
Prouclies  had  not  elicited  from  the  fashionable  world  any 
very  loud  encomiums  on  their  beauty.  Their  mother  felt 
the  taunt  in  its  fullest  force,  but  she  would  not  essay  to  do 
battle  on  the  present  arena.  She  jotted  down  the  item  in 
her  mind,  and  kept  it  over  for  Barchester  and  the  chapter. 
Such  debts  as  those  she  usually  paid  on  some  day,  if  the 
means  of  doing  so  were  at  all  within  her  power. 

"  But  there  is  Miss  Dunstable,  I  declare,"  she  said,  seeing* 
that  that  lady  had  entered  the  room ;  and  away  -went  Mrs. 
Proudie  to  welcome  her  distinguished  guest. 

"  And  so  this  is  a  conversazione,  is  it  ?"  said  that  lady, 
speaking,  as  usual,  not  in  a  suppressed  voice.  "  "Well,  I  de- 
clare, it's  very  nice.  It  means  conversation,  don't  it,  Mrs. 
Proudie?" 

*'  Ha !  ha !  ha !  Miss  Dunstable.  There  is  nobody  like 
you,  I  declare." 

"  Well,  but  don't  it  ?  and  tea  and  cake  ?  and  then,  when 
we're  tired  of  talking,  w^e  go  away — isn't  that  it  ?" 

"  But  you  must  not  be  tired  for  these  three  hours  yet." 

"  Oh,  I  am  never  tired  of  talking ;  all  the  world  knows 
that.  How  do,  bishop  ?  A  very  nice  sort  of  thing  this 
conversazione,  isn't  it,  now  ?" 

The  bishop  rubbed  his  hands  together  and  smiled,  and 
said  that  he  thought  it  was  rather  nice. 

.  "Mrs.  Proudie  is  so  fortunate  in  all  her  little  arrange- 
ments," said  Miss  Dunstable. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  bishop.  "  I  think  she  is  happy  i» 
these  matters.  I  do  flatter  myself  that  she  is  so.  Of 
course.  Miss  Dunstable,  you  are  accustomed  to  things  on  a 
much  grander  scale." 

"  I !  Lord  bless  you,  no !  Nobody  hates  grandeur  so 
much  as  I  do.  Of  course,  I  must  do  as  I  am  told.  I  must 
live  in  a  big  house,  and  have  three  footmen  six  feet  high. 
I  must  have  a  coachman  with  a  top-heavy  wig,  and  horses 
so  big  that  they  frighten  me.  If  I  did  not,  I  should  be 
made  out  a  lunatic,  and  declared  unable  to  manage  my  own 
afiairs.  But  as  for  grandeur,  I  hate  it.  I  certainly  think 
that  I  shall  have  some  of  these  conversaziones.  I  wonder 
whether  Mrs.  Proudie  would  come  and  put  me  up  to  a 
wrinkle  or  two." 

The  bishop  again  rubbed  his  hands,  and  said  that  he  was 
sure  she  would.     He  never  felt  quite  at  his  ease  with  Miss 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  195 

Dunstable,  as  he  rarely  could  ascertain  whether  or  no  she 
was  earnest  m  what  she  was  saying.  So  lie  trotted  oiF, 
muttering  some  excuse  as  he  went,  and  Miss  Dunstable 
chuckled  with  an  inward  chuckle  at  his  too  evident  bewil- 
derment. Miss  Dunstable  was  by  nature  kind,  generous, 
and  open-hearted ;  but  she  was  living  now  very  nmch  with 
people  on  whom  kindness,  generosity,  and  open-hearted- 
ness  were  thrown  away.  She  was  clever  also,  and  could 
be  sarcastic ;  and  she  found  that  those  qualities  told  better 
in  the  world  around  her  than  generosity  and  an  open  heart. 
And  so  she  went  on  from  month  to  month,  and  year  to 
year,  not  progressing  in  a  good  spirit  as  she  might  have 
done,  but  still  carrying  within  her  bosom  a  warm  aifection 
for  those  she  could  really  love.  And  she  knew  that  she 
was  hardly  living  as  she  should  live — that  the  wealth  which 
she  affected  to  despise  was  eating  into  the  soundness  of 
her  character,  not  by  its  splendor,  but  by  the  style  of  life 
which  it  had  seemed  to  produce  as  a  necessity.  She  knew 
that  she  was  gradually  becoming  irreverent,  scornful,  and 
prone  to  ridicule  ;  but  yet,  knowing  this  and  hating  it,  she 
hardly  knew  how  to  break  from  it. 

She  had  seen  so  much  of  the  blacker  side  of  human  na- 
ture that  blackness  no  longer  startled  her  as  it  should  do. 
She  had  been  the  prize  at  which  so  many  ruined  spend- 
thrifts had  aimed — so  many  pirates  had  endeavored  to  run 
her  down  while  sailing  in  the  open  waters  of  life,  that  she 
had  ceased  to  regard  such  attempts  on  her  money-bags  as 
unmanly  or  overcovetous.  She  was  content  to  fight  her 
own  battle  with  her  own  weapons,  feeling  secure  in  her 
own  strength  of  purpose  and  strength  of  wit. 

Some  few  friends  she  had  whom  she  really  loved — among 
whom  her  inner  self  could  come  out  and  speak  boldly  what 
it  had  to  say  Avitli  its  own  true  voice.  And  the  woman 
who  thus  so  spoke  was  so  very  different  from  that  Miss 
Dunstable  whom  Mrs.  Proudie  courted,  and  the  Duke  of 
Onmium  feted,  and  Mrs.  Harold  Smith  claimed  as  her  bos- 
om  friend.  If  only  she  could  find  among  such  one  special 
companion  on  whom  her  heart  might  rest,  who  would  help 
her  to  bear  the  heavy  burdens  of  her  world !  But  where 
was  she  to  find  such  a  friend  ?  she,  with  her  keen  wit,  her- 
untold  money,  and  loud  laughing  voice.  Every  thing  aljout 
her  was  calculated  to  attract  those  whom  she  could  not 
value,  and  to  scare  from  her  the  sort  of  friend  to  whom  she 
would  fain  have  linked  hor  lot. 


196  FKAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

And  then  she  met  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  who  had  taken 
Mrs.  Proudie's  noble  suite  of  rooms  in  her  tour  for  the  even- 
ing, and  was  devoting  to  them  a  period  of  twenty  minutes. 
"And  so  I  may  congratulate  you,"  Miss  Dunstable  said 
eagerly  to  her  friend. 

"  No,  in  mercy's  name,  do  no  such  thing,  or  you  may  too 
probably  have  to  uncongratulate  me  again — and  that  will 
be  so  unpleasant." 

"  But  they  told  me  that  Lord  Brock  had  sent  for  him 
yesterday."  Now  at  this  period  Lord  Brock  was  prime 
minister. 

"  So  he  did,  and  Harold  was  with  him  backward  and  for- 
ward all  the  day.  But  he  can't  shut  his  eyes  and  open  his 
mouth,  and  see  what  God  will  send  him,  as  a  wise  and  pru- 
dent man  should  do.  He  is  always  for  bargaining,  and  no 
prime  minister  likes  that." 

"  I  would  not  be  in  his  shoes  if,  after  all,  he  has  to  come 
liome  and  say  that  the  bargain  is  off." 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !  Well,  I  should  not  take  it  very  quietly. 
But  what  can  we  poor  women  do,  you  know  ?  When  it 
is  settled,  my  dear,  I'll  send  you  a  line  at  once."  And  then 
Mrs.  Harold  Smith  finished  her  course  round  the  rooms, 
and  regained  her  carriage  within  the  twenty  minutes. 

"  Beautiful  profile,  has  she  not  ?"  said  Miss  Dunstable, 
somewhat  later  in  the  evening,  to  Mrs.  Proudie.  Of  course, 
the  profile  spoken  of  belonged  to  Miss  Grantly. 

"  Yes,  it  is  beautiful,  certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Proudie.  "  The 
pity  is  that  it  means  nothing." 

"  The  gentlemen  seem  to  think  that  it  means  a  good  deal." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that.  She  has  no  conversation,  you 
see — not  a  word.  She  has  been  sitting  there  with  Lord 
Dumbello  at  her  elbow  for  the  last  hour,  and  yet  she  has 
hardly  opened  her  mouth  three  times." 

"  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Proudie,  who  on  earth  could  talk  to 
Lord  Dumbello?" 

Mrs.  Proudie  thought  that  her  own  daughter  Olivia 
would  undoubtedly  be  able  to  do  so,  if  only  she  could  get 
the  opportunity.  But  then  Olivia  had  so  much  conversa- 
tion. 

And  while  the  two  ladies  were  yet  looking  at  the  youth- 
ful pair.  Lord  Dumbello  did  speak  again.  "  I  think  I  have 
had  enough  of  this  now,"  said  he,  addressing  himself  to 
Griselda. 


FRAMLEY   PARSOXAGE.  197 

"  I  suppose  you  have  other  engagements,"  said  she. 

'^Oh  yes;  and  I  believe  I  shall  go  to  Lady  Clantel- 
brocks"."  And  then  he  took  his  departure.  No  other  word 
was  spoken  that  evening  between  him  and  Miss  Grantly 
beyond  those  given  in  this  chronicle,  and  yet  the  world  de- 
clared that  he  and  that  young  lady  had  passed  the  evening 
in  so  close  a  flirtation  as  to  make  the  matter  more  than  or- 
dinarily particular ;  and  Mrs.  Grantly,  as  she  was  driven 
home  to  her  lodgings,  began  to  have  doubts  in  her  mind 
whether  it  would  be  wise  to  discountenance  so  great  an  al- 
liance as  that  which  the  head  of  the  great  Hartletop  fam- 
ily now  seemed  so  desirous  to  establish.  The  prudent 
mother  had  not  yet  spoken  a  word  to  her  daughter  on  these 
subjects,  but  it  might  soon  become  necessary  to  do  so.  It 
was  all  very  well  for  Lady  Lufton  to  hurry  up  to  town, 
but  of  what  service  would  that  be  if  Lord  Lufton  wiJrc  not 
to  be  found  in  Bruton  Street  ? 


CHAPTER  XYIII. 

THE    NEW    minister's    PATRONAGE. 

At  that  time,  just  as  Lady  Lufton  was  about  to  leave 
Framley  for  London,  Mark  Kobarts  received  a  pressing 
letter,  inviting  him  also  to  go  up  to  the  metropolis  for  a 
day  or  two — not  for  pleasure,  but  on  business.  The  letter 
was  from  his  indefatigable  friend  Sowerby. 

"  My  dear  Robarts,"  the  letter  ran : 

"I  have  just  heard  that  poor  little  Burslem,  the  Barsetshire  preben- 
dary, is  dead.  We  must  all  die  some  day,  you  know — as  you  have  told 
your  parishioners  from  the  Framley  pulpit  more  than  once,  no  doubt. 
The  stall  must  be  filled  up,  and  why  should  not  you  have  it  as  well  as 
another?  It  is  six  hundred  a  year  and  a  house.  Little  Burslem  had 
nine,  but  the  good  old  times  are  gone.  Whether  the  house  is  letable  or 
not  under  the  present  ecclesiastical  regime,  I  do  not  know.  It  used  to 
be  so,  for  I  remember  Mrs.  Wiggins,  the  tallow-chandler's  widow,  living 
in  old  Stanhope's  house. 

"Harold  Smith  has  just  joined  the  government  as  Lord  Petty  Bag, 
and  could,  I  think,  at  the  present  moment,  get  this  for  asking.  He  can 
not  well  refuse  me,  and,  if  you  will  say  the  word,  I  will  speak  to  him.  You 
had  better  come  up  yourself;  but  say  the  word  '  Yes'  or  '  No'  by  the  wires. 

"  If  you  say  '  Yes,'  as  of  course  you  will,  do  not  fail  to  come  up.  You 
will  find  me  at  the  'Travelers,'  or  at  the  House.  The  stall  will  just  suit 
you — will  give  you  no  trouble,  improve  your  position,  and  give  some 
little  assistance  toward  bed  and  board,  and  rack  and  manger. 

"Youre  ever  faithfully,  N.  SowKRnv. 


198  FEAMLEY   PAESONAGE. 

"  Singularly  enough,  I  liear  that  your  brother  is  private  secretary  to 
the  new  Lord  Petty  Bag.  I  am  told  that  his  chief  duty  will  consist  in 
desiring  the  servants  to  call  my  sister's  carriage.  I  have  only  seen 
Harold  once  since  he  accepted  office,  but  my  Lady  Petty  Bag  says  that 
he  has  certainly  grown  an  inch  since  that  occurrence." 

This  was  certainly  very,  good-natured  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
Sowerby,  and  showed  that  he  had  a  feeling  wdthin  his 
bosom  that  he  owed  something  to  his  friend  the  parson  for 
the  injury  he  had  done  him.  And  such  w^as  in  truth  the 
case.  A  more  reckless  being  than  the  member  for  West 
Barsetshire  could  not  exist.  He  w^as  reckless  for  himself, 
and  reckless  for  all  others  with  whom  he  might  be  con- 
cerned. He  could  ruin  his  friends  with  as  little  remorse  as 
he  had  ruined  himself.  All  w^as  fair  game  that  came  in  the 
way  of  his  net.  But,  nevertheless,  he  w^as  good-natured, 
and  willing  to  move  heaven  and  earth  to  do  a  friend  a  good 
turn,  if  it  came  in  his  way  to  do  so. 

He  did  really  love  Mark  Robarts  as  much  as  it  was  given 
him  to  love  any  among  his  acquaintance.  He  knew  that 
he  had  already  done  him  an  almost  irreparable  injury,  and 
might  very  probably  injure  him  still  deeper  before  he  had 
done  wdth  him.  That  he  would  undoubtedly  do  so,  if  it 
came  in  his  way,  was  very  certain.  But  then,  if  it  also  came 
in  his  w^ay  to  repay  his  friend  by  any  side  blow,  he  w^ould 
also  undoubtedly  do  that.  Such  an  occasion  had  now  come, 
and  he  had  desired  his  sister  to  give  the  new  Lord  Petty 
Bag  no  rest  till  he  should  have  promised  to  use  all  his  in- 
fluence in  getting  the  vacant  prebend  for  Mark  Robarts. 

This  letter  of  Sowerby's  Mark  immediately  showed  to 
his  "wife.  How  lucky,  thought  he  to  himself,  that  not  a 
\rord  w^as  said  in  it  about  those  accursed  money  transac- 
tions !  Had  he  understood  Sowerby  better,  he  would  have 
known  that  that  gentleman  never  said  any  thing  about 
money  transactions  until  it  became  absolutely  necessary. 
"I  know  you  don't  like  Mr.  Sowerby,"  he  said,  "but  you 
must  own  that  this  is  very  good-natured." 

"  It  is  the  character  I  hear  of  him  that  I  don't  like,"  said 
Mrs.  Robarts. 

"  But  w^hat  shall  I  do  now,  Fanny  ?  As  he  says,  why 
should  not  I  have  the  stall  as  well  as  another  ?" 

"  I  suppose  it  w^ould  not  interfere  with  your  parish  ?" 
she  asked. 

"  Not  in  the  least,  at  the  distance  at  which  w^e  are.     I 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  199 

did  tbink  of  giving  up  old  Jones ;  but  if  I  take  this,  of 
course  I  must  keep  a  curate." 

His  witie  could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  dissuade  him 
from  accepting  promotion  when  it  came  in  his  way — what 
vicar's  wife  would  have  so  persuaded  her  husband  ?  But 
yet  she  did  not  altogether  like  it.  She  feared  that  Greek 
from  Chaldicotes,  even  when  he  came  with  the  jDresent  of 
a  prebendal  stall  in  his  hands.  And  then  what  would  Lady 
Lufton  say  ? 

"And  do  you  think  that  you  must  go  up  to  London, 
Mark?" 

"  Oh,  certainly ;  that  is,  if  I  intend  to  accept  Harold 
Smith's  kind  offices  in  the  matter." 

"  I  suppose  it  will  be  better  to  accept  them,"  said  Fanny, 
feeling  perhaps  that  it  would  be  useless  in  her  to  hope  that 
they  should  not  be  accepted. 

"  Prebendal  stalls,  Fanny,  don't  generally  go  begging 
long  among  parish  clergymen.  How  could  I  reconcile  it 
to  the  duty  I  owe  to  my  children  to  refuse  such  an  increase 
to  my  income  ?"  And  so  it  was  settled  that  he  should  at 
once  drive  to  Silverbridge,  and  send  off  a  message  by  tele- 
graph, and  that  he  should  himself  proceed  to  London  on 
the  following  day.  "  But  you  must  see  Lady  Lufton  first, 
of  course,"  said  Fanny,  as  soon  as  all  this  was  settled. 

Mark  would  have  avoided  this  if  he  could  have  decently 
done  so,  but  he  felt  that  it  would  be  impolitic  as  well  as  in- 
decent. And  why  should  he  be  afraid  to  tell  Lady  Lufton 
that  he  hoped  to  receive  this  piece  of  promotion  from  the 
present  government  ?  There  was  nothing  disgraceful  in  a 
clergyman  becoming  a  prebendary  at  Barchester.  Lady 
Lufton  herself  had  always  been  very  civil  to  the  preben- 
daries, and  especially  to  little  Dr.  Burslem,  the  meagre 
little  man  who  had  just  now  paid  the  debt  of  nature.  She 
had  always  been  very  fond  of  the  chapter,  and  her  original 
dislike  to  Bishop  Proudie  had  been  chiefly  founded  on  his 
interference  with  the  cathedral  clergy — on  his  interference, 
or  on  that  of  his  wife  or  chaplain.  Considering  these 
things,  Mark  Robarts  tried  to  make  himself  believe  that 
Lady  Lufton  would  be  delighted  at  his  good  fortune.  But 
yet  he  did  not  believe  it.  She,  at  any  rate,  would  revolt 
from  the  gift  of  the  Greek  of  Chaldicotes. 

"Oh,  indeed!"  she  said,  when  the  vicar  had  with  some 
difficulty-explained  to  her  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case. 


200  FEAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

"  Well,  I  congratulate  you,  Mr.  Robarts,  on  your  powerful 
new  patron." 

"  You  Avill  probably  feel  with  me,  Lacly  Lufton,  that  the 
benefice  is  one  which  I  can  hold  without  any  detriment  to 
me  in  my  position  here  at  Framley,"  said  he,  prudently  re- 
solving to  let  the  slur  upon  his  friends  pass  by  unheeded. 

"  Well,  I  hope  so.  Of  course,  you  are  a  very  young  man, 
Mr.  Robarts,  and  these  things  have  generally  been  given 
to  clergymen  more  advanced  in  life." 

"  But  you  do  not  mean  to  say  that  you  think  I  ought  to 
refuse  it  ?" 

"  What  my  advice  to  you  might  be  if  you  really  came  to 
me  for  advice,  I  am  hardly  prepared  to  say  at  so  very  short 
a  notice.  You  seem  to  have  made  up  your  mind,  and  there- 
fore I  need  not  consider  it.  As  it  is,  I  wish  you  joy,  and 
hope  that  it  may  turn  out  to  your  advantage  in  every 
way." 

"  You  understand.  Lady  Lufton,  that  I  have  by  no  means 
got  it  as  yet." 

"  Oh,  I  thought  it  had  been  offered  to  you ;  I  thought 
you  spoke  of  this  new  minister  as  having  all  that  in  his 
own  hand." 

"  Oh  dear,  no.  What  may  be  the  amount  of  his  influence 
in  that  respect  I  do  not  at  all  know.  But  my  correspond- 
ent assures  me — " 

"Mr.  Sowerby,  j^ou  mean.  Why  don't  you  call  him  by 
his  name  ?" 

"  Mr.  Sowerby  assures  me  that  Mr.  Smith  will  ask  for 
it,  and  thinks  it  most  probable  that  his  request  will  be  suc- 
cessful." 

"  Oh,  of  course.  Mr.  Sowerby  and  Mr.  Harold  Smith  to- 
gether would  no  doubt  be  successful  in  any  thing.  They 
are  the  sort  of  men  who  are  successful  nowadays.  Well, 
Mr.  Robarts,  I  wish  you  joy."  And  she  gave  him  her  hand 
in  token  of  her  sincerity. 

Mark  took  her  hand,  resolving  to  say  nothing  farther  on 
that  occasion.  That  Lady  Lufton  was  not  now  cordial  with 
him,  as  she  used  to  be,  he  was  well  aware,  and  sooner  or 
later  he  was  determined  to  have  the  matter  out  with  her. 
He  would  ask  her  why  she  now  so  constantly  met  him  with 
a  taunt,  and  so  seldom  greeted  him  with  that  kind  old  af- 
fectionate smile  which  he  knew  and  appreciated  so  well. 
That  she  was  honest  and  true  he  was  quite  sure.     If  he 


PRAMLEY  PARSONAGE.  201 

asked  her  the  question  plainly,  she  would  answer  him  open- 
ly. And  if  he  could  induce  her  to  say  that  she  would  re- 
turn to  her  old  ways,  return  to  them  she  would  in  a  hearty 
manner.  But  he  could  not  do  this  just  at  present.  It  was 
but  a  day  or  two  since  Mr.  Crawley  had  been  with  him, 
and  was  it  not  probable  that  Mr.  Crawley  had  been  sent 
thither  by  Lady  Lufton  ?  His  own  hands  were  not  clean 
enough  for  a  remonstrance  at  the  present  moment.  He 
would  cleanse  them,  and  then  he  would  remonstrate. 

"  Would  you  like  to  live  part  of  the  year  in  Barchester  ?" 
he  said  to  his  wife  and  sister  that  evening. 

"I  think  that  two  houses  are  only  a  trouble,"  said  his 
wife ;  "  and  we  have  been  very  happy  here." 

"  I  have  always  liked  a  cathedral  town,"  said  Lucy ;  "  and 
I  am  particularly  fond  of  the  Close." 

"  And  Barchester  Close  is  the  closest  of  all  closes,"  said 
Mark.  "  Tliere  is  not  a  single  house  within  the  gateways 
that  does  not  belong  to  the  chapter." 

"  But,  if  we  are  to  keep  up  two  houses,  the  additional  in- 
come will  soon  be  wasted,"  said  Fanny,  prudently. 

"The  thing  would  be  to  let  the  house  furnished  every 
summer,"  said  Lucy. 

"  But  I  must  take  my  residence  as  the  terms  come,"  said 
the  vicar  ;  "  and  I  certainly  should  not  like  to  be  away  from 
Framley  all  the  winter;  I  should  never  see  any  thing  of 
Lufton."     And  perhaps  he  thought  of  his  hunting,  and  then  , 
thought  again  of  that  cleansing  of  his  hands. 

"  I  should  not  a  bit  mind  being  away  during  the  winter," 
said  Lucy,  thinking  of  what  the  last  winter  had  done  for 
her. 

"  But  where  on  earth  should  we  find  money  to  furnish 
one  of  those  large,  old-fashioned  houses  ?  Pray,  Mark,  do 
not  do  any  thing  rash."  And  the  wife  laid  her  hand  affec- 
tionately on  her  husband's  arm.  In  this  manner  the. ques- 
tion of  the  prebend  was  discussed  between  them  on  the 
evening  before  he  started  for  London. 

Success  had  at  last  crowned  the  earnest  effort  with  which 
Harold  Smith  had  carried  on  the  political  battle  of  his  life 
for  the  last  ten  years.  The  late  Lord  Petty  Bag  had  re- 
signed in  disgust,  having  been  unable  to  digest  the  prime 
minister's  ideas  on  Indian  Reform,  and  INIr.  Harold  Smith, 
after  sundry  hitches  in  the  business,  was  installed  in  his 
place.     It  Avas  said  that  Harold  Smith  was  not  oxactlv  the 

12 


202  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

man  whom  the  premier  would  himself  have  chosen  for  that 
high  office ;  but  the  premier's  hands  were  a  good  deal  tied 
by  circumstances.  The  last  great  appointment  he  had 
made  had  been  terribly  unpopular — so  much  so  as  to  sub- 
ject him,  poj)ular  as  he  undoubtedly  was  himself,  to  a 
screech  from  the  whole  nation.  The  Jupiter^  with  wither- 
ing scorn,  had  asked  whether  vice  of  every  kind  was  to  be 
considered,  in  these  days  of  Queen  Victoria,  as  a  passport 
to  the  cabinet.  Adverse  members  of  both  houses  had  ar- 
rayed themselves  in  a  pure  panoply  of  morality,  and  thun- 
dered forth  their  sarcasms  with  the  indignant  virtue  and 
keen  discontent  of  political  Juvenals ;  and  even  his  own 
friends  had  held  up  their  hands  in  dismay.  Under  these 
circumstances,  he  had  thought  himself  obliged,  in  the  pres- 
ent instance,  to  select  a  man  who  Avould  not  be  especially 
objectionable  to  any  party.  Now  Harold  Smith  lived  with 
his  wife,  and  his  circumstances  were  not  more  than  ordina- 
rily embarrassed.  He  kept  no  race-horses ;  and,  as  Lord 
Brock  now  heard  for  the  first  time,  gave  lectures  in  pro- 
vincial towns  on  popular  subjects.  He  had  a  seat  which 
was  tolerably  secure,  and  could  talk  to  the  House  by  the 
yard,  if  required  to  do  so.  Moreover,  Lord  Brock  had  a 
great  idea  that  the  whole  machinery  of  his  own  ministry 
would  break  to  pieces  very  speedily.  His  own  reputation 
was  not  bad,  but  it  was  insufficient  for  himself  and  that 
lately-selected  friend  of  his.  Under  all  these  circumstances 
combined,  he  chose  Harold  Smith  to  fill  the  vacant  office 
of  Lord  Petty  Bag. 

And  very  proud  the  Lord  Petty  Bag  was.  For  the  last 
three  or  four  months,  he  and  Mr.  Supplehouse  had  been 
agreeing  to  consign  the  ministry  to  speedy  perdition. 
"This  sort  of  dictatorship  will  never  do,"  Harold  Smith 
had  himself  said,  justifying  that  future  vote  of  his  as  to 
want  of  confidence  in  the  queen's  government.  And  Mr. 
Supplehouse  in  this  matter  had  fully  agreed  with  him.  He 
was  a  Juno  whose  form  that  wicked  old  Paris  had  utterly 
despised,  and  he,  too,  had  quite  made  up  his  mind  as  to  the 
lobby  in  which  he  would  be  found  when  that  day  of  venge- 
ance should  arrive.  But  now  things  were  much  altered  in 
Harold  Smith's  views.  The  premier  had  shown  his  wis- 
dom in  seeking  for  new  strength  where  strength  ought  to 
be  sought,  and  introducing  new  blood  into  the  body  of  his 
ministry.     The  people  would  now  feel  fresh   confidence, 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  203 

and  probably  the  House  also.  As  to  Mr.  Supplehouse — he 
would  use  all  his  influence  on  Supplehouse.  But,  after  all, 
Mr.  Supplehouse  was  not  every  thing. 

On  the  morning  after  our  vicar's  arrival  in  London  he 
attended  at  the  Petty  Bag  office.  It  was  situated  in  the 
close  neighborhood  of  Downing  Street  and  the  higher  gov- 
ernmental gods ;  and  though  the  building  itself  was  not 
much,  seeing  that  it  was  shored  up  on  one  side,  that  it 
bulged  out  in  the  front,  was  foul  with  smoke,  dingy  with 
dirt,  and  was  devoid  of  any  single  architectural  grace  or 
modern  scientific  improvement,  nevertheless  its  position 
gave  it  a  status  in  the  world  which  made  the  clerks  in  the 
Lord  Petty  Bag's  office  quite  respectable  in  their  walk  in 
life.  Mark  had  seen  his  friend  Sowerby  on  the  previous 
evening,  and  had  then  made  an  appointment  with  him  for 
the  following  morning  at  the  new  minister's  office.  And 
now  he  was  there  a  little  before  his  time,  in  order  that  he 
might  have  a  few  moments'  chat  with  his  brother. 

When  Mark  found  himself  in  the  private  secretary's 
room,  he  was  quite  astonished  to  see  .the  change  in  his 
brother's  appearance  which  the  change  in  his  official  rank 
had  produced.  Jack  Robarts  had  been  a  well-built,  straight- 
legged,  lissome  young  fellow,  pleasant  to  the  eye  because 
of  his  natural  advantages,  but  rather  given  to  a  harum- 
skarum  style  of  gait,  and  occasionally  careless,  not.  to  say 
slovenly,  in  his  dress.  But  now  he  was  the  very  pink  of 
perfection.  His  jaunty  frock-coat  fitted  him  to  perfection  ; 
not  a  hair  of  his  head  was  out  of  place ;  his  waistcoat  and 
trowsers  were  glossy  and  new,  and  his  umbrella,  which 
stood  in  the  umbrella-stand  in  the  corner,  was  tight,  and 
neat,  and  small,  and  natty. 

"  Well,  John,  you've  become  quite  a  great  man,"  said 
his  brother. 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  that,"  said  John,  "  but  I  find 
that  I  have  an  enormous  deal  of  fagging  to  go  through." 

*'Do  you  mean  work?  I  thought  you  had  about  the 
easiest  berth  in  the  whole  civil  service." 

"Ah!  that's  just  the  mistake  that  people  make.  Be- 
cause we  don't  cover  whole  reams  of  foolscap  paper  at  the 
rate  of  fifteen  lines  to  a  page,  and  five  words  to  a  line,  peo- 
ple think  that  we  private  secretaries  have  got  nothing  to 
do.  Look  here ;"  and  he  tossed  over  scornfully  a  dozen  or 
so  of  little  notes.     "  T  tell  you  what,  Mark,  it  is  no  easy 


204  PKAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

matter  to  manage  the  patronage  of  a  cabinet  minister. 
Now  I  am  bound  to  write  to  every  one  of  these  fellows  a 
letter  that  will  jjlease  him,  and  yet  I  shall  refuse  to  every 
one  of  them  the  request  which  he  asks." 

"That  must  be  difficult." 

"  Difficult  is  no  word  for  it.  But,  after  all,  it  consists 
chiefly  in  the  knack  of  the  thing.  One  must  have  the  wit 
'  from  such  a  sharp  and  waspish  word  as  No  to  pluck  the 
sting.'  I  do  it  every  day,  and  I  really  think  that  the  peo- 
ple like  it." 

"  Perhaps  your  refusals  are  better  than  other  peoj^le's 
acquiescences." 

"  I  don't  mean  that  at  all.  We  private  secretaries  have 
all  to  do  the  same  thing.  Now,  would  you  believe  it  ?  I 
have  used  up  three  lifts  of  note-paper  already  in  telling  peo- 
ple that  there  is  no  vacancy  for  a  lobby  messenger  in  the 
Petty  Bag  office.  Seven  peeresses  have  asked  for  it  for 
their  favorite  footmen.  But  there — there's  the  Lord  Petty 
Bag!" 

A  bell  rang,  and  the  private  secretary,  jumping  up  from 
his  note-paper,  tripped  away  quickly  to  the  great  man's 
room. 

"  He'll  see  you  at  once,"  said  he,  returning.  "  Buggins, 
show  the  Reverend  Mr.  Robarts  to  the  Lord  Petty  Bag." 

Buggins  was  the  messenger  for  whose  not  vacant  place 
all  the  peeresses  were  striving  with  so  much  animation. 
And  then  Mark,  following  Buggins  for  two  steps,  was  ush- 
ered into  the  next  room. 

If  a  man  be  altered  by  becoming  a  private  secretary,  he 
is  much  more  altered  by  being  made  a  cabinet  minister. 
Robarts,  as  he  entered  the  room,  could  hardly  believe  that 
this  was  the  same  Harold  Smith  whom  Mrs.Proudie  both- 
ered so  cruelly  in  the  lecture-room  at  Barchester.  Then 
he  was  cross,  and  touchy,  and  uneasy,  and  insignificant. 
Now,  as  he  stood  smiling  on  the  hearth-rug  of  his  official 
fireplace,  it  was  quite  pleasant  to  see  the  kind,  patronizing 
smile  which  lighted  up  his  features.  He  delighted  to  stand 
there,  with  his  hands  in  his  trowsers'  pocket,  the  great  man 
of  the  place,  conscious  of  his  lordship,  and  feeling  himself 
every  inch  a  minister.  Sowerby  had  come  with  him,  and 
was  standing  a  little  in  the  backgi'ound,  from  which  posi- 
tion he  winked  occasionally  at  the  parson  over  the  minis' 
ter's  shoulder. 


FRAMLEY    PAKSONAGE.  205 

"  Ah !  Robarts,  delighted  to  see  you.  How  odd,  by-the- 
by,  that  your  brother  should  be  my  private  secretary !" 

Mark  said  that  it  was  a  singular  coincidence. 

"  A  very  smart  young  fellow,  and,  if  he  minds  himself, 
he'll  do  well." 

"  I'm  quite  sure  he'll  do  well,"  said  Mark. 

"  Ah  !  well,  yes,  I  think  he  will.  And  now,  what  can  I 
do  for  you,  Robarts  ?" 

Hereupon  Mr.  Sowerby  struck  in,  making  it  apparent  by 
his  explanation  that  Mr.  Robarts  himself  by  no  means  in- 
tended to  ask  for  any  thing ;  but  that,  as  his  friends  had 
thought  that  this  stall  at  Barchester  might  be  put  into  his 
hands  with  more  fitness  than  in  those  of  any  other  clei:gy- 
man  of  the  day,  he  was  willing  to  accept  the  piece  of  pre- 
ferment from  a  man  whom  he  respected  so  much  as  he  did 
the  new  Lord  Petty  Bag. 

The  minister  did  not  quite  like  this,  as  it  restricted  him 
from  much  of  his  condescension,  and  robbed  him  of  the  in- 
cense of  a  petition  which  he  had  expected  Mark  Robarts 
would  make  to  him.  But,  nevertheless,  he  was  very  gra- 
cious. 

"  He  could  not  take  upon  himself  to  declare,"  he  said, 
"  what  might  be  Lord  Brock's  pleasure  with  reference  to 
the  preferment  at  Barchester  which  was  vacant.  He  had 
certainly  already  spoken  to  his  lordship  on  the  subject,  and 
had  perhaps  some  reason  to  believe  that  his  own  wishes 
would  be  consulted.  No  distinct  promise  had  been  made, 
but  he  might  perhaps  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  he  expected 
such  result.  If  so,  it  would  give  him  the  greatest  pleasure 
in  the  world  to  congratulate  Mr.  Robarts  on  the  possession 
of  a  stall — a  stall  which  he  was  sure  Mr.  Robarts  would  fill 
Avith  dignity,  piety,  and  brotherly  love."  And  then,  when 
he  had  finished,  Mr.  Sowerby  gave  a  final  wink,  and  said 
that  he  regarded  the  matter  as  settled. 

"  No,  not  settled,  Nathaniel,"  said  the  cautious  minister. 

"  It's  the  same  thing,"  rejoined  Sowerby.  "  We  all  know 
what  all  that  flummery  means.  Men  in  oflice,  Mark,  never 
do  make  a  distinct  promise — not  even  to  themselves  of  the 
leg  of  mutton  which  is  roasting  before  their  kitchen  fires. 
It  is  so  necessary  in  these  di\ys  to  be  safe ;  is  it  not,  Harold  ?" 

"  Most  expedient,"  said  Harold  Smith,  shaking  his  head 
wisely.  "  Well,  Robarts,  who  is  it  now  ?"  This  he  said 
to  his  private  secretary,  who  came  to  notice  the  arrival  of 


206  FEAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

some  big  wig.  "  Well,  yes.  I  will  say  good-morning,  with 
yom-  leave,  for  I  am  a  little  hurried.  And  remember,  Mr. 
Robarts,  I  will  do  what  I  can  for  you ;  but  you  must  dis- 
tinctly understand  that  there  is  no  promise." 

"  Oh,  no  23romise  at  all,"  said  Sowerby — "  of  course  not." 
And  then,  as  he  sauntered  up  Whitehall  toward  Charing 
Cross,  with  Robarts  on  his  arm,  he  again  pressed  upon  him 
the  sale  of  that  invaluable  hunter,  who  was  eating  his  head 
oif  his  shoulders  in  the  stable  at  Chaldicotes. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

MONEY     DEALINGS. 

Mr.  Sowerby,  in  his  resolution  to  obtain  this  good  gift 
for  the  Vicar  of  Framley,  did  not  depend  quite  alone  on  the 
influence  of  his  near  connection  with  the  Lord  Petty  Bag. 
He  felt  the  occasion  to  be  one  on  which  he  might  endeavor 
to  move  even  higher  powers  than  that,  and  therefore  he  had 
opened  the  matter  to  the  duke — not  by  direct  application, 
but  through  Mr.  Fothergill.  No  man  who  understood 
matters  ever  thought  of  going  direct  to  the  duke  in  such 
an  affair  as  that.  If  one  wanted  to  speak  about  a  woman, 
or  a  horse,  or  a  picture,  the  duke  could,  on  occasions,  be  af- 
fable enough. 

But  through  Mr.  Fothergill  the  duke  was  approached. 
It  was  represented,  with  some  cunning,  that  this  buying 
over  of  the  Framley  clergyman  from  the  Lufton  side  would 
be  a  praiseworthy  spoiling  of  the  Amalekites.  The  doing 
so  Avould  give  the  Omnium  interest  a  hold  even  in  the 
Cathedral  Close.  And  then  it  was  known  to  all  men  that 
Mr.  Robarts  had  considerable  influence  over  Lord  Lufton 
himself  So  guided,  the  Duke  of  Omnium  did  say  two 
words  to  the  prime  minister,  and  two  words  from  the  duke 
went  a  great  way  even  with  Lord  Brock.  The  upshot  of 
all  this  was,  that  Mark  Robarts  did  get  the  stall ;  but  he 
did  not  hear  the  tidings  of  his  success  till  some  days  after 
his  return  to  Framley. 

Mr.  Sowerby  did  not  forget  to  tell  him  of  the  great  effort 
— the  unusual  effort,  as  he  of  Cbaldicotes  called  it — which 
the  duke  had  made  on  the  subject.  "I  don't  know  Avhen 
he  has  done  such  a  thing  before,"  said  Sowerby;  "and 
you  may  be  quite  sure  of  this,  he  would  not  have  done  it 


PKAMLEY   PAESONAGE.  204" 

now  had  you  not  gone  to  Gatherum  Castle  when  he  asked 
you ;  indeed,  Fotliergill  would  have  known  that  it  was  vain 
to  attempt  it.  And  I'll  tell  you  what,  Mark,  it  does  not  do 
for  me  to  make  little  of  my  own  nest,  but  I  truly  believe 
the  duke's  word  will  be  more  efficacious  than  the  Lord 
Petty  Bag's  solemn  adjuration." 

Mark,  of  course,  expressed  his  gratitude  in  proper  terms, 
and  did  buy  the  horse  for  a  hundred  and  thirty  pounds. 
"He's  as  well  worth  it,"  said  Sowerby,  "as  any  animal 
that  ever  stood  on  four  legs ;  and  my  only  reason  for  press- 
ing him  on  you  is,  that  when  Tozer's  day  does  come  round, 
I  know  you  will  have  to  stand  to  us  to  something  about 
that  tune."  It  did  not  occur  to  Mark  to  ask  him  why  the 
horse  should  not  be  sold  to  some  one  else,  and  the  money 
forthcoming  in  the  regular  way.  But  this  would  not  have 
suited  Mr.  Sowerby. 

Mark  knew  that  the  beast  was  good,  and,  as  lie  walked 
to  his  lodgings,  was  half  proud  of  his  new  possession.  But 
then,  how  would  he  justify  it  to  his  wife,  or  how  introduce 
the  animal  into  his  stables  without  attempting  any  justifica- 
tion in  the  matter?  And  yet,  looking  to  the  absolute 
amount  of  his  income,  surely  he  might  feel  himself  entitled 
to  buy  a  new  horse  when  it  suited  him.  He  wondered 
what  Mr.  Crawley  would  say  when  he  heard  of  the  new 
purchase.  He  had  lately  fallen  into  a  state  of  much  won- 
dering as  to  what  his  friends  and  neighbors  would  say 
about  him. 

He  had  now  been  two  days  in  town,  and  was  to  go  down 
after  breakfast  on  the  following  morning  so  that  he  might 
reach  home  by  Friday  afternoon.  But  on  that  evening, 
just  as  he  was  going  to  bed,  he  was  surprised  by  Lord  Lut- 
ton  coming  into  the  cofiee-room  at  his  hotel.  He  walked 
in  with  a  hurried  step,  his  face  was  red,  and  it  was  dear 
that  he  was  very  angry. 

"  Robarts,"  said  he,  walking  up  to  his  friend  and  taking 
the  baud  that  was  extended  to  him,  "  do  you  know  any 
thing  about  this  man  Tozer  ?" 

"  Tozer — what  Tozer  ?  I  have  heard  Sowerby  speak  of 
such  a  man." 

"  Of  course  you  have.  If  I  do  not  mistake,  you  have 
written  to  me  about  him  yourself." 

"  Very  probably.  I  remember  Sowerby  mentioning  the 
man  with  reference  to  your  affairs.  But  why  do  you  ask 
mo?" 


208  FKAMLEY   PAESONAGE. 

•*'This  man  has  not  only  written  to  me,  but  has  absolute- 
ly forced  his  way  into  my  rooms  when  I  was  dressing  for 
dinner,  and  absolutely  had  the  impudence  to  tell  me  that  if 
I  did  not  honor  some  bill  which  he  holds  for  eight  hundred 
pounds,  he  would  proceed  against  me." 

"  But  you  settled  all  that  matter  with  Sowerby  ?" 

"  I  did  settle  it  at  a  very  great  cost  to  me.  Sooner  than 
have  a  fuss,  I  paid  him  through  the  nose — like  a  fool  that 
I  was — every  thing  that  he  claimed.  This  is  an  absolute 
swindle,  and  if  it  goes  on  I  will  expose  it  as  such." 

Robarts  looked  round  the  room,  but  luckily  there  was 
not  a  soul  in  it  but  themselves.  "  You  do  not  mean  to  say 
that  Sowerby  is  swindling  you?"  said  the  clergyman.    . 

"It  looks  very  like  it,"  said  Lord  Lufton ;  "and  I  tell 
you  fairly  that  I  am  not  in  a  humor  to  endure  any  more 
of  this  sort  of  thing.  Some  years  ago  I  made  an  ass  of  my- 
self through  that  man's  fault.  But  four  thousand  pounds 
should  have  covered  the  whole  of  what  I  really  lost.  I 
have  now  paid  more  than  three  times  that  sum ;  and,  by 
heavens !  I  will  not  pay  more  without  exposing  the  whole 
affair."  '      ^ 

"  But,  Lufton,  I  do  not  understand.  What  is  this  bill  ? 
Has  it  your  name  to  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  has ;  I'll  not  deny  my  name,  and,  if  there  be  ab- 
solute need,  I  will  pay  it ;  but  if  I  do  so,  my  lawyer  shall 
sift  it,  and  it  shall  go  before  a  jury." 

"But  I  thought  all  those  bills  were  paid?" 

"  I  left  it  to  Sowerby  to  get  up  the  old  bills  when  they 
were  renewed,  and  now  one  of  them  that  has  in  truth  been 
already  honored  is  brought  against  me." 

Mark  could  not  but  think  of  the  two  documents  which 
he  himself  had  signed,  and  both  of  which  were  now  undoubt- 
edly in  the  hands  of  Tozer,  or  of  some  other  gentleman  of 
the  same  profession — which  both  might  be  brought  against 
him,  the  second  as  soon  as  he  should  have  satisfied  the  first. 
And  then  he  remembered  that  Sowerby  had  said  something 
to  him  about  an  outstanding  bill,  for  the  filling  up  of  which 
some  trifle  must  be  paid,  and  of  this  he  reminded  Lord  Luf- 
ton. 

"  And  do  you  call  eight  hundred  pounds  a  trifle  ?  If  so, 
I  do  not." 

"  They  will  probably  make  no  such  demand  as  that." 

"  But  I  tell  you  they  do  make  such  a  demand,  and  have 


FRAMLEY   PAESONAGE.  209 

made  it.  The  man  whom  I  saw,  and  who  told  me  that  ho 
was  Tozer's  friend,  but  who  was  probably  Tozer  himself, 
positively  swore  to  me  that  he  would  be  obliged  to  take 
legal  proceedings  if  the  money  were  not  forthcoming  within 
a  week  or  ten  days.  When  I  explained  to  him  that  it  was 
an  old  bill  that  had  been  renew^ed,  he  declared  that  his 
friend  had  given  full  value  for  it." 

"  Sowerby  said  that  you  would  probably  have  to  pay  ten 
pounds  to  redeem  it.  I  should  offer  the  man  some  such 
sum  as  that." 

"  My  intention  is  to  offer  the  man  nothing,  but  to  leave 
the  affair  in  the  hands  of  my  lawyer,  with  instructions  to 
him  to  spare  none — neither  myself,  nor  any  one  else.  I  am 
not  going  to  allow  such  a  man  as  Sowerby  to  squeeze  me 
like  an  orange." 

"  But,  Lufton,  you  seem  as  though  you  were  angry  with 
me." 

"  No,  I  am  not.  But  I  think  it  is  as  well  to  caution  you 
about  this  man  ;  my  transactions  with  him  lately  have  chief- 
ly been  through  you,  and  therefore — " 

"  But  they  have  only  been  so  through  his  and  your  wish 
— ^because  I  have  been  anxious  to  oblige  you  both.  I  hope 
you  don't  mean  to  say  that  I  am  concerned  in  these  bills  ?" 

"  I  know  that  you  are  concerned  in  bills  with  him." 

"  Why,  Lufton,  am  I  to  understand,  then,  that  you  are 
accusing  me  of  having  any  interest  in  these  transactions 
which  you  have  called  swindling  ?" 

"  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  there  has  been  swindling, 
and  there  is  swindling  going  on  now." 

"But  you  do  not  answer  my  queSlion.  Do  you  bring 
any  accusation  against  me  ?  If  so,  I  agree  with  you  that 
you  had  better  go  to  your  lawyer." 

"  I  think  that  is  what  I  shall  do." 

"  Very  well.  But,  upon  the  whole,  I  never  heard  of  a 
more  unreasonable  man,  or  of  one  whose  thoughts  are  more 
unjust  than  yours.  Solely  with  the  view  of  assisting  you, 
and  solely  at  your  request,  I  spoke  to  Sowerby  about  these 
money  transactions  of  yours.  Then,  at  his  request,  which 
originated  out  of  your  request,  he  using  me  as  his  embassa- 
dor to  you,  as  you  had  used  me  as  yours  to  him,  I  wrote 
and  spoke  to  you.     And  now  this  is  the  upshot." 

"  I  bring  no  accusation  against  you,  Robarts ;  but  I  know 
you  have  dealings  with  this  man.  You  have  told  me  so 
yourself" 


210  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

*'  Yes,  at  his  request,  to  accommodate  him,  I  have  put  my 
name  to  a  bill." 

"  Only  to  one  ?" 

"  Only  to  one ;  ana  then  to  that  same  renewed,  or  not 
exactly  to  that  same,  but  to  one  which  stands  for  it.  The 
first  was  for  four  hundred  pounds ;  the  last  for  five  hund- 
red." 

"  All  which  you  will  have  to  make  good,  and  the  world 
will  of  course  tell  you  that  you  have  paid  that  price  for  this 
stall  at  Barchester." 

This  was  terrible  to  be  borne.  He  had  heard  much  late- 
ly which  had  frightened  and  scared  him,  but  nothing  so  ter- 
rible as  this — nothing  which  so  stunned  him,  or  conveyed 
to  his  mind  so  frightful  a  reality  of  misery  and  ruin.  He 
made  no  immediate  answer,  but,  standing  on  the  hearth-rug 
with  his  back  to  the  fire,  looked  up  the  whole  length  of  the 
room.  Hitherto  his  eyes  had  been  fixed  upon  Lord  Luf- 
ton's  face,  but  now  it  seemed  to  him  as  though  he  had  but 
little  more  to  do  with  Lord  Lufton.  Lord  Lufton  and  Lord 
Lufton's  mother  were  neither  now  to  be  counted  among 
those  who  wished  him  well.  Upon  whom,  indeed,  could 
he  now  count,  except  that  wife  of  his  bosom  upon  whom 
he  was  bringing  all  this  wretchedness  ? 

In  that  moment  of  agony  ideas  ran  quickly  through  his 
brain.  He  would  immediately  abandon  this  preferment  at 
Barchester,  of  which  it  might  be  said  with  so  much  color 
that  he  had  bought  it.  He  would  go  to  Harold  Smith,  and 
say  positively  that  he  declined  it.  Then  he  would  retui-n 
home  and  tell  his  wife  all  that  had  occurred — tell  the  w^hole 
also  to  Lady  Luftonf  if  that  might  still  be  of  any  service. 
He  would  make  arrangement  for  the  payment  of  both  those 
bills  as  they  might  be  presented,  asking  no  questions  as  to 
the  justice  of  the  claim,  making  no  complaint  to  any  one, 
not  even  to  Sowerby.  He  would  put  half  his  income,  if 
half  were  necessary,  into  the  hands  of  Forrest  the  banker 
till  all  was  paid.  He  would  sell  every  horse  he  had.  He 
would  part  with  his  footman  and  groom,  and,  at  any  rate, 
strive  like  a  man  to  get  again  a  firm  footing  on  good  ground. 
Then,  at  that  moment,  he  loathed  with  his  whole  soul  the 
position  in  which  he  found  himself  placed,  and  his  own  fol- 
ly which  had  placed  him  there.  How  could  he  reconcile  it 
to  his  conscience  that  he  was  there  in  London  with  Sow^er- 
by  and  Harold  Smith,  petitioning  for  Church  preferment  to 


'    "  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  211 

a  man  who  should  liave  been  altogether  powerless  in  such 
a  matter,  buying  horses,  and  arranging  about  past  due- 
bills?  He  did  not  reconcile  it  to  his  conscience.  Mr. 
Crawley  had  been  right  when  he  told  him  that  he  was  a 
castaway. 

Lord  Lufton,  whose  anger  during  the  whole  interview 
had  been  extreme,  and  who  had  become  more  angry  the 
more  he  talked,  had  now  walked  once  or  twice  up  and 
down  the  room,  and  as  he  so  walked  the  idea  did  occur  to 
him  that  he  had  been  unjust.  He  had  come  there  with 
the  intention  of  exclaiming  against  Sowerby,  and  of  indu- 
cing Robarts  to  convey  to  that  gentleman  that  if  he,  Lord 
Lufton,  were  made  to  undergo  any  farther  annoyance  about 
this  bill,  the  Avhole  affair  should  be  thrown  into  the  law- 
yer's hands ;  but  instead  of  doing  this,  he  had  brought  an 
accusation  against  Robarts.  That  Robarts  had  latterly 
become  Sowerby's  friend  rather  than  his  own  in  all  these 
horrid  money-dealings  had  galled  him,  and  now  he  had 
expressed  himself  in  terms  much  stronger  than  he  had  in- 
tended to  use. 

"  As  to  you  personally,  Mark,"  he  said,  coming  back  to 
the  spot  on  which  Robarts  was  standing,  "I  do  not  wish 
to  say  any  thing  that  shall  annoy  you." 

"  You  have  said  quite  enough.  Lord  Lufton." 

"You  can  not  be  surprised  that  I  should  be  angry  and 
indignant  at  the  treatment  I  have  received." 

"  You  might,  I  think,  have  separated  in  your  mind  those 
who  have  w^ronged  you,  if  there  has  been  such  wrong,  from 
those  who  have  only  endeavored  to  do  your  will  and  pleas- 
ure for  you.  That  I,  as  a  clergyman,  have  been  very  wrong 
in  taking  any  part  whatsoever  in  these  matters,  I  am  Avell 
aware.  That,  as  a  man,  I  have  been  outrageously  foolish 
in  lending  my  name  to  Mr.  Sowerby,  I  also  know  well 
enough :  it  is  perhaps  as  well  that  I  should  be  told  of  this 
somew^hat  rudely,  but  I  certainly  did  not  expect  the  lesson 
to  come  from  you." 

"  Well,  there  has  been  mischief  enough.  The  question 
is,  "What  we  had  better  now  both  do  ?" 

"  You  have  said  what  you  mean  to  do.  You  Avill  put 
the  affair  into  the  hands  of  your  lawyer." 

"Not  with  any  object  of  exposing  you." 

"Exposing  me.  Lord  Lufton!  Why,  one  would  think 
that  I  had  had  the  handling  of  your  money." 


212  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

"  You  will  misunderstand  me.  I  think  no  such  thing. 
But  do  you  not  know  yourself  that  if  legal  steps  be  taken 
in  this  wretched  affair,  your  arrangements  with  Sowerby 
will  be  brought  to  light  ?" 

"  My  arrangements  with  Sowerby  will  consist  in  paying 
or  having  to  pay,  on  his  account,  a  large  sum  of  money, 
for  which  I  have  never  had  and  shall  never  have  any  con- 
sideration whatever." 

"  And  what  will  be  said  about  this  stall  at  Barchester  ?" 

"After  the  charge  which  you  brought  against  me  just 
now,  I  shall  decline  to  accept  it." 

At  this  moment  three  or  four  other  gentlemen  entered 
the  room,  and  the  conversation  between  our  two  friends 
was  stopped.  They  still  remained  standing  near  the  fire, 
but  for  a  few  moments  neither  of  them  said  any  thing. 
Robarts  was  waiting  till  Lord  Lufton  should  go  away,  and 
Lord  Lufton  had  not  yet  said  that  which  he  had  come  to 
say.  At  last  he  spoke  again,  almost  in  a  whisper :  "  I 
think  it  will  be  best  to  ask  Sowerby  to  come  to  my  rooms 
to-morrow,  and  I  think  also  that  you  should  meet  him 
there." 

"  I  do  not  see  any  necessity  for  my  presence,"  said  Ro- 
barts. "It  seems . probable  that  I  shall  suffer  enough  for 
meddling  with  your  affairs,  and  I  will  do  so  no  more." 

"  Of  course  I  can  not  make  you  come ;  but  I  think  it 
will  be  only  just  to  Sowerby,  and  it  will  be  a  favor  to  me." 

Robarts  again  w^alked  up  and  down  the  room  for  half  a 
dozen  times,  trying  to  resolve  what  it  would  most  become 
him  to  do  in  the  present  emergency.  If  his  name  were 
dragged  before  the  courts — if  he  should.be  shown  up  in 
the  public  papers  as  having  been  engaged  in  accommoda- 
tion bills,  that  would  certainly  be  ruinous  to  him.  He  had 
already  learned  from  Lord  Lufton's  innuendoes  w^hat  he 
might  expect  to  hear  as  the  public  version  of  his  share  in 
these  transactions!  And  then  his  wife — how  would  she 
bear  such  exposure? 

"  I  will  meet  Mr.  Sowerby  at  your  rooms  to-morrow  on 
one  condition,"  he  at  last  said. 

"  And  what  is  that  ?" 

"  That  I  receive  your  positive  assurance  that  I  am  not 
suspected  by  you  of  having  had  any  pecuniary  interest 
whatever  in  any  money  matters  with  Mr.  Sowerby,  either 
as  concerns  your  affairs  or  those  of  any  body  else." 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  213 

"  I  have  never  suspected  you  of  any  such  thing.     But  I 
have  thought  that  you  were  compromised  with  him." 

"And  so  I  am — I  am  liable  for  these  bills.  But  you 
ought  to  have  known,  and  do  know,  that  I  have  n^ver  re- 
ceived a  shilling  on  account  of  such  liability.  I  have  en- 
deavored to  oblige  a  man  whom  I  regarded  first  as  your 
friend,  and  then  as  my  owm ;  and  this  has  been  the  result." 
Lord  Lufton  did  at  last  give  him  the  assurance  that  he 
desired,  as  they  sat  w^th  their  heads  together  over  one  of 
the  coffee-room  tables ;  and  then  Robarts  promised  that  he 
would  postpone  his  return  to  Framley  till  the  Saturday, 
so  that  he  might  meet  Sowerby  at  Lord  Lufton's  chambers 
in  the  Albany  on  the  following  afternoon.  As  soon  as  this 
was  arranged,  Lord  Lufton  took  his  leave  and  Avent  his 
way. 

After  that,  poor  Mark  had  a  very  uneasy  night  of  it.  It 
was  clear  enough  that  Lord  Lufton  had  thought,  if  he  did 
not  still  think,  that  the  stall  at  Barchester  was  to  be  given 
as  pecuniary  recompense  in  return  for  certain  money  ac- 
commodation to  be  afforded  by  the  nominee  to  the  dis- 
penser of  this  patronage.  Nothing  on  earth  could  be  worse 
than  this.  In  the  first  place,  it  w^ould  be  simony ;  and  then 
it  w^ould  be  simony  beyond  all  description  mean  and  simo- 
niacal.  The  very  thought  of  it  filled  Mark's  soul  with  hor- 
ror and  dismay.  It  might  be  that  Lord  Lufton's  suspicions 
were  now  at  rest;  but  others  would  think  the  same  thing, 
and  their  suspicions  it  would  be  impossible  to  allay ;  those 
others  w^ould  consist  of  the  outer  w^orld,  which  is  always 
so  eager  to  gloat  over  the  detected  vice  of  a  clergyman. 

And  then  that  wretched  horse  which  he  had  purchased, 
and  the  purchase  of  which  should  have  prohibited  him  from 
saying  that  nothing  of  value  had  accrued  to  him  in  these 
transactions  with  Mr.  SoVerby !  Avhat  w^as  he  to  do  about 
that?  And  then  of  late  he  had  been  spending,  and  had 
continued  to  spend,  more  money  than  he  could  well  afford. 
This  very  journey  of  his  up  to  London  would  be  most  im- 
prudent, if  it  should  become  necessary  for  him  to  give  up 
all  hope  of  holding  the  prebend.  As  to  that  he  had  made 
up  his  mind ;  but  then  again  he  unmade  it,  as  men  always 
do  in  such  troubles.  That  line  of  conduct  which  he  had 
laid  down  for  himself  in  the  first  moments  of  his  indigna- 
tion against  Lord  Lufton,  by  adopting  w^hich  ho  would 
have  to  encounter  poverty,  and  ridicule,  and  discomfort. 


214  FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

the  annihilation  of  his  liigh  hopes,  and  the  ruin  of  his  am- 
bition— that,  he  said  to  himself  over  and  over  again,  would 
now  be  the  best  for  him.  But  it  is  so  hard  for  us  to  give 
up  our  high  hopes,  and  willingly  encounter  poverty,  ridi- 
cule, and  discomfort ! 

On  the  following  morning,  however,  he  boldly  walked 
down  to  the  Petty  Bag  Office,  determined  to  let  Harold 
Smith  know  that  he  was  no  longer  desirous  of  the  Barches- 
ter  stall.  He  found  his  brother  there,  still  writing  artistic 
notes  to  anxious  peeresses  on  the  subject  of  Buggins'  non- 
vacant  situation ;  but  the  great  man  of  the  place,  the  Lord 
Petty  Bag  himself,  was  not  there.  He  might  probably 
look  in  when  the  House  was  beginning  to  sit,  perhaps  at 
four  or  a  little  later ;  but  he  certainly  would  not  be  at  the 
office  in  the  morning.  The  functions  of  the  Lord  Petty 
Bag  he  was  no  doubt  performing  elsewhere.  Perhaps  he 
had  carried  his  work  home  with  him — a  practice  which 
the  world  should  know  is  not  uncommon  with  civil  serv- 
ants of  exceeding  zeal. 

Mark  did  think  of  oj)ening  his  heart  to  his  brother,  and 
of  leaving  his  message  with  him.  But  his  courage  failed 
him,  or  perhaj^s  it  might  be  more  correct  to  say  that  his 
prudence  prevented  him.  It  would  be  better  for  him,  he 
thought,  to  tell  his  wife  before  he  told  any  one  else.  So 
he  merely  chatted  with  his  brother  for  half  an  hour,  and 
then  left  him. 

The  day  was  very  tedious  till  the  hour  came  at  which  he 
was  to  attend  at  Lord  Lufton's  rooms ;  but  at  last  it  did 
come,  and  just  as  the  clock  struck  he  turned  out  of  Picca- 
dilly into  the  Albany.  As  he  was  going  across  the  court, 
before  he  entered  the  building,  he  was  greeted  by  a  voice 
just  behind  him. 

"As  punctual  as  the  big  cloclc  on  Barchester  tower," 
said  Mr.  Sowerby.  "See  what  it  is  to  have  a  summons 
from  a  great  man,  Mr.  Prebendary." 

He  turned  round  and  extended  his  hand  mechanically  to 
Mr.  Sowerby,  and  as  he  looked  at  him  he  thought  he  had 
never  before  seen  him  so  pleasant  in  appearance,  so  free 
from  care,  and  so  joyous  in  demeanor. 

"  You  have  heard  from  Lord  Lufton,"  said  Mark,  in  a 
voice  that  was  certainly  very  lugubrious. 

"  Heard  from  him !  oh,  yes,  of  course  I  have  heard  from 
him.     ril  tell  you  what  it  is,  Mark,"  and  he  noAV  spoke  al- 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  215 

most  in  a  whisper  as  they  walked  together  along  the  Al- 
bany passage,  *^  Liifton  is  a  child  in  money  matters — a  per- 
fect child.  The  dearest,  finest  fellow  in  the  world,  you 
know,  but  a  very  baby  in  money  matters."  And  then 
they  entered  his  lordship's  rooms. 

Lord  Lufton's  countenance  also  was  lugubrious  enough, 
but  this  did  not  in  the  least  abash  Sowerby,  who  walked 
quickly  up  to  the  young  lord,  with  his  gait  perfectly  self- 
possessed  and  his  face  radiant  with  satisfaction. 

"  Well,  Lufton,  how  are  you  ?"  said  he.  "  It  seems  that 
my  worthy  friend  Tozer  has  been  giving  you  some  trouble  ?" 

Then  Lord  Lufton,  with  a  face  by  no  means  radiant  with 
satisfaction,  again  began  the  story  of  Tozer's  fraudulent  de- 
mand upon  him.  Sowerby  did  not  interrupt  him,  but  lis- 
tened patiently  to  the  end — quite  patiently,  although  Lord 
Lufton,  as  he  made  himself  more  and  more  angry  by  the 
history  of  his  own  wrongs,  did  not  hesitate  to  pronounce 
certain  threats  against  Mr.  Sowerby,  as  he  had  pronounced 
them  before  against  Mark  Robarts.  He  would  not,  he  said, 
pay  a  shilling  except  through  his  lawyer ;  and  he  would  in- 
struct his  lawyer  that,  before  he  paid  any  thing,  the  whole 
matter  should  be  exposed  openly  in  court.  He  did  not 
care,  he  said,  what  might  be  the  effect  on  himself  or  any 
one  else.  He  was  determined  that  the  whole  case  should 
go  to  a  jury. 

"  To  grand  jury,  and  special  jury,  and  common  jury,  and 
Old  Jewry,  if  you  like,"  said  Sowerby.  "  The  truth  is, 
Lufton,  you  lost  some  money,  and  as  there  was  some  delay 
in  paying  it,  you  have  been  harassed." 

"  I  have  paid  more  than  I  lost  three  times  over,"  said 
Lord  Lufton,  stamping  his  foot. 

"I  will  not  go  into  that  question  now.  It  was  settled, 
as  I  thought,  some  time  ago,  by  persons  to  whom  you  yoiu'- 
self  referred  it.  But  will  you  tell  me  this :  Why  on  earth 
should  Robarts  be  troubled  in  this  matter  ?  What  has  he 
done?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  He  arranged  the  matter  with 
you." 

"  No  such  thing.  He  was  kind  enough  to  carry  a  mes- 
sage from  you  to  me,  and  to  convey  back  a  return  message 
from  me  to  you.     That  has  been  his  part  in  it." 

"You  don't  suppose  that  I  want  to  implicate  him, do 
you?" 


216  FEAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

"  I  don't  think  you  want  to  implicate  any  one,  but  you 
are  hot-headed  and  difficult  to  deal  with,  and  very  irrational 
into  the  bargain.  And,  what  is  worse,  I  must  say  you  are 
a  little  suspicious.  In  all  this  matter  I  have  harassed  my- 
self greatly  to  oblige  you,  and  in  return  I  have  got  more 
kicks  than  halfpence." 

"  Did  not  you  give  this  bill  to  Tozer — the  bill  which  he 
now  holds  ?" 

"  In  the  first  place,  he  does  not  hold  it ;  and,  in  the  next 
place,  I  did  not  give  it  to  him.  These  things  pass  through 
scores  of  hands  before  they  reach  the  man  who  makes  the 
application  for  payment." 

"  And  who  came  to  me  the  other  day  ?" 

"  That,  I  take  it,  w^as  Tom  Tozer,  a  brother  of  our  Tozer's." 

"  Then  he  holds  the  bill,  for  I  saw  it  with  him." 

"  Wait  a  moment ;  that  is  very  likely.  I  sent  you  word 
that  you  would  have  to  pay  for  taking  it  up.  Of  course 
they  don't  abandon  those  sort  of  things  without  some  con- 
sideration." 

"  Ten  pounds,  you  said,"  observed  Mark. 

"  Ten  or  twenty  ;  some  such  sum  as  that.  But  you  were 
hardly  so  soft  as  to  suppose  that  the  man  would  ask  for 
such  a  sum.  Of  course  he  would  demand  the  full  payment. 
There  is  the  bill.  Lord  Lufton,"  and  Sowerby,  producing  a 
document,  handed  it  across  the  table  to  his  lordship.  "  I 
gave  five-and-twenty  pounds  for  it  this  morning." 

Lord  Lufton  took  the  paper  and  looked  at  it.  "Yes," 
said  he,  "  that's  the  bill.     What  am  I  to  do  with  it  now  ?" 

"  Put  it  with  the  family  archives,"  said  Sowerby — "  or 
behind  the  fire,  just  which  you  please." 

"  And  is  this  the  last  of  them  ?  Can  no  other  be  brought 
up  ?" 

"  You  know  better  than  I  do  what  paper  you  may  have 
put  your  hand  to.  I  know  of  no  other.  At  the  last  re- 
newal, that  was  the  only  outstanding  bill  of  which  I  was 
aware." 

"  And  you  have  paid  five-and-twenty  pounds  for  it  ?" 

"  I  have.  Only  that  you  have  been  in  such  a  tantrum 
about  it,  and  would  have  made  such  a  noise  this  afternoon 
if  I  had  not  brought  it,  I  might  have  had  it  for  fifteen  or 
twenty.  In  three  or  four  days  they  would  have  taken  fif- 
teen." 

"  The  odd  ten  pounds  does  not  signify,  and  I'll  pay  you 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  217 

the  twenty -five,  of  course,"  said  Lord  Lufton,  who  now  be- 
gan to  feel  a  little  ashamed  of  himself. 

"  You  may  do  as  you  please  about  that." 

"  Oh !  it's  my  affair,  as  a  matter  of  course.  Any  amount 
of  that  kind  I  don't  mind,"  and  he  sat  down  to  fill  in  a 
check  for  the  money. 

"  Well,  now,  Lufton,  let  me  say  a  few  words  to  you," 
said  Sowerby,  standing  with  his  back  against  the  fireplace, 
and  playing  with  a  small  cane  which  lie  held  in  his  hand. 
"  For  heaven's  sake  try  and  be  a  little  more  charitable  to 
those  around  you.  When  you  become  fidgety  about  any 
thing,  you  hidulge  in  language  which  the  world  won't  stand, 
though  men  who  know  you  as  well  as  Robarts  and  I  may 
consent  to  put  up  with  it.  You  have  accused  me,  since  I 
have  been  here,  of  all  manner  of  iniquity — " 

"  Now,  Sowerby—" 

"My  dear  fellow,  let  me  have  my  say  out.  You  have 
accused  me,  I  say,  and  I  believe  that  you  have  accused  him. 
But  it  has  never  occurred  to  you,  I  dare  say,  to  accuse 
yourself." 

"  Indeed  it  has." 

"  Of  course  you  have  been  Avrong  in  having  to  do  Avitli 
such  men  as  Tozer.  I  have  also  been  very  wrong.  It 
wants  no  great  moral  authority  to  tell  us  that.  Pattern 
gentlemen  don't  have  dealings  with  Tozer,  and  very  much 
the  better  they  are  for  not  having  them.  But  a  man  should 
have  back  enough  to  bear  the  weight  which  he  himself  puts 
on  it.  Keep  away  from  Tozer,  if  you  can,  for  the  future ; 
but  if  you  do  deal  with  hhu,  for  heaven's  sake  keep  your 
temper." 

"  That's  all  very  fine,  Sowerby ;  but  you  know  as  well 
as  I  do—" 

"I  know  this,"  said  the  devil  quoting  Scripture,  as  he 
folded  up  the  check  for  twenty-five  pounds,  and  put  it  in 
his  pocket,  "  that  when  a  man  sows  tares,  he  won't  reap 
wheat,  and  it's  no  use  to  expect  it.  I  am  tough  in  these 
matters,  and  can  bear  a  great  deal — that  is,  if  I  be  not 
pushed  too  far,"  and  he  looked  full  into  Lord  Lufton's  face 
as  he  spoke ;  "  but  I  think  you  have  been  very  hard  upon 
Robarts." 

"  Never  mind  me,  Sowerby ;  Lord  Lufton  and  I  are  very 
old  friends." 

"And  may  therefore  take  a  liberty  with  each  other. 


218  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

Very  well.  And  now  Tve  done  my  sermon.  My  dear 
dignitary,  allow  me  to  congratulate  you.  I  hear  from  Fotli- 
erejill  that  that  little  affair  of  yours  has  been  definitely  set- 
tle^d." 

Mark's  face  again  became  clouded.  "I  rather  think," 
said  he,  "  that  I  shall  decline  the  presentation." 

"  Decline  it !"  said  Sowerby,  Avho,  having  used  his  ut- 
most efforts  to  obtain  it,  would  have  been  more  absolutely 
offended  by  such  vacillation  on  the  vicar's  part  than  by  any 
personal  abuse  which  either  he  or  Lord  Lufton  could  heap 
ujDon  him. 

"I  think  I  shall,"  said  Mark. 

"And  why?" 

Mark  looked  up  at  Lord  Lufton,  and  then  remained  si- 
lent for  a  moment. 

"  There  can  be  no  occasion  for  such  a  sacrifice  under  the 
present  circumstances,"  said  his  lordship. 

"  And  under  what  circumstances  could  there  be  occasion 
for  it  ?"  asked  Sowerby.  "  The  Duke  of  Omnium  has  used 
some  little  influence  to  get  the  place  for  you  as  a  parish 
clergyman  belonging  to  his  county,  and  I  should  think  it 
monstrous  if  you  were  now  to  reject  it." 

And  then  Kobarts  openly  stated  the  whole  of  his  reasons, 
explaining  exactly  what  Lord  Lufton  had  said  with  refer- 
ence to  the  bill  transactions,  and  to  the  allegation  which 
would  be  made  as  to  the  stall  having  been  given  in  pay- 
ment for  the  accommodation. 

"  Upon  my  word,  that's  too  bad,"  said  Sowerby. 

"  Now,  Sowerby,  I  won't  be  lectured,"  said  Lord  Lufton. 

"  I  have  done  my  lecture,"  said  he,  aware,  perhaps,  that 
it  would  not  do  for  him  to  push  his  friend  too  far,  *'  and  I 
shall  not  give  a  second.  But,  Robarts,  let  me  tell  you  this : 
as  far  as  I  know,  Harold  Smith  has  had  little  or  nothing  to 
do  with  the  appointment.  The  duke  has  told  the  prime 
minister  that  he  was  very  anxious  that  a  parish  clergyman 
from  the  county  should  go  into  the  chapter,  and  then,  at 
Lord  Brock's  request,  he  named  you.  If,  under  those  cir- 
cumstances, you  talk  of  giving  it  up,  I  shall  believe  you  to 
be  insane.  As  for  the  bill  which  you  accepted  for  me,  you 
need  have  no  uneasiness  about  it.  The  money  will  be 
ready ;  but  of  course,  when  that  time  comes,  you  will  let 
me  have  the  hundred  and  thirty  for — " 

And  then  Mr.  Sowerby  took  his  leave,  having  certainly 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  219 

made  himself  master  of  the  occasion.  If  a  man  of  fifty  have 
liis  wits  about  liim,  and  be  not  too  prosy,  he  can  gerjerally 
make  himself  master  of  the  occasion  when  his  companions 
arc  under  thirty.  ^ 

Robarts  did  not  stay  at  the  Albany  long  after  him,  but 
took  his  leave,  having  received  some  assurances  of  Lord 
Lufton's  regret  for  what  had  passed,  and  many  promises 
of  his  friendship  for  the  future.  Indeed,  Lord  Lufton  was 
a  little  ashamed  of  himself.  "  And  as  for  the  prebend,  after 
what  has  passed,  of  course  you  must  accept  it."  Neverthe- 
less, his  lordship  had  not  omitted  to  notice  Mr.  Sowerby's 
hint  about  the  horse  and  the  hundred  and  thirty  pounds. 

Robarts,  as  he  walked  back  to  his  hotel,  thought  that  he 
certainly  would  accept  the  Barchester  promotion,  and  was 
very  glad  that  he  had  said  nothiftg  on  the  subject  to  his 
brother.  On  the  whole,  his  spirits  were  much  raised.  That 
assurance  of  Sowerby's  about  the  bill  was  very  comforting 
to  him ;  and,  strange  to  say,  he  absolutely  believed  it.  In 
truth,  Sowerby  had  been  so  completely  the  winning  horse 
at  the  late  meeting,  that  both  Lord  Lufton  and  Robarts 
were  inclined  to  believe  almost  any  thing  he  said — which 
was  not  always  the  case  with  either  of  them. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

HAROLD   SMITH   IN   I'HE   CABINET. 

For  a  few  days  the  whole  Harold  Smith  party  held  their 
heads  very  high.  It  was  not  only  that  their  man  had  been 
made  a  cabinet  minister,  but  a  rumor  had  got  abroad  that 
Lord  Brock,  in  selecting  him,  had  amazingly  strengthened 
his  party,  and  done  much  to  cure  the  wounds  which  his 
own  arrogance  and  lack  of  judgment  had  inflicted  on  the 
body  politic  of  his  government.  So  said  the  Ilarold-Smith- 
ians,  much  elated.  And  when  we  consider  what  Harold 
liad  himself  achieved,  we  need  not  be  surprised  that  he 
himself  was  somewhat  elated  also. 

It  must  be  a  proud  day  for  any  man  when  he  first  walks 
into  a  cabinet.  But  when  a  humble-minded  man  thinks  of 
such  a  phase  of  life,  his  mind  becomes  lost  in  wondering 
what  a  cabinet  is.  Are  they  gods  that  attend  there,  or 
men?  Do  they  sit  on  chairs,  or  hang  about  on  clouds? 
When  they  speak,  is  the  music  of  the  spheres  audible  in 


220  FRAMLt:Y   PARSONAGE. 

their  Olympian  mansion,  making  heaven  drowsy  with  its 
harmony?  In  what  way  do  they  congregate?  In  what 
order  'do  they  address  each  other  ?  Are  the  voices  of  all 
the  deities  free  and  equal  ?  Is  plodding  Themis  from  the 
Home  Department,  or  Ceres  from  the  Colonies,  heard  with 
as  rapt  attention  as  powerful  Pallas  of  the  Foreign  Office, 
the  goddess  that  is  never  seen  without  her  lance  and  helm- 
et ?  Does  our  Whitehall  Mars  make  eyes  there  at  bright 
young  Venus  of  the  Privy  Seal,  disgusting  that  quaint 
tinkering  Yulcan,  who  is  blowing  his  bellows  at  our  Ex- 
chequer, not  altogether  unsuccessfully  ?  Old  Saturn  of  the 
Woolsack  sits  there  mute,  we  will  say,  a  relic  of  other  days, 
as  seated  in  this  divan.  The  hall  in  w^hich  he  rules  is  now 
elsewhere.  Is  our  Mercury  of  the  Post-office  ever  ready  to 
fly  nimbly  from  globe  to  globe,  as  great  Jove  may  order 
him,  while  Neptune,  unaccustomed  to  the  waves,  offers 
needful  assistance  to  the  Apollo  of  the  India  Board  ?  How 
Juno  sits  apart,  glum  and  huffy,  uncared  for.  Council  Presi- 
dent though  she  be,  great  in  name,  but  despised  among 
gods — that  we  can  guess.  If  Bacchus  and  Cupid  share 
Trade  and  the  Board  of  Works  between  them,  the  fitness 
of  things  will  have  been  as  fully  consulted  as  is  usual.  And 
modest  Diana  of  the  Petty  Bag,  latest  summoned  to  these 
banquets  of  ambrosia — does  she  not  cling  retiring  near  the 
doors,  hardly  able  as  yet  to  make  her  low  voice  heard 
among  her  brother  deities?  But  Jove,  great  Jove — -old 
Jove,  the  King  of  Olympus,  hero  among  gods  and  men,  how 
does  he  carry  himself  in  these  councils  summoned  by  his 
voice  ?  Does  he  lie  there  at  his  ease,  with  his  purple  cloak 
cut  from  the  firmament  around  his  shoulders?  Is  his' 
thunderbolt  ever  at  his  hand  to  reduce  a  recreant  god  to 
order  ?  Can  he  proclaim  silence  in  that  immortal  hall?  Is 
it  not  there  as  elsewhere,  in  all  places,  and  among  all  na- 
tions, that  a  king  of  gods  and  a  king  of  men  is  and  will  be 
king,  rules  and  will  rule,  over  those  who  are  smaller  than 
himself? 

Harold  Smith,  when  he  was  summoned  to  the  august 
hall  of  divine  councils,  did  feel  himself  to  be  a  proud  man; 
but  we  may  perhaps  conclude  that  at  the  first  meeting  or 
two  he  did  not  attempt  to  take  a  very  leading  part.  Some 
of  my  readers  may  have  sat  at  vestries,  and  will  remember 
how  mild,  and,  for  the  most  part,  mute,  is  a  new-comer  at 
their  board.    He  agrees  generally,  with  abated  enthusiasm ; 


PRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  221 

but  should  he  differ,  he  apologizes  for  the  liberty.  But 
anon,  when  the  voices  of  his  colleagues  have  become  habit- 
ual in  his  ears,  whea  the  strangeness  of  the  room  is  gone, 
and  the  table  before  Iiim  is  known  and  trusted,  he  throws 
off  his  awe  and  dismay,  and  electrifies  his  brotherhood  by 
the  vehemence  of  his  declamation  and  the  violence  of  his 
thumping.  So  let  us  suppose  it  w^ill  be  with  Harold  Smith, 
perhaps  in  the  second  or  third  season  of  his  cabinet  prac- 
tice. Alas !  alas !  that  such  pleasures  should  be  so  fleet- 
ing! 

And  then,  too,  there  came  upon  him  a  blow  which  sorae- 
w^hat  modified  his  triumph — a  cruel,  dastard  blow,  from  a 
hand  which  should  have  been  friendly  to  him,  from  one  to 
■whom  he  had  fondly  looked  to  buoy  him  up  in  the  great 
course  that  was  before  him.  It  had  been  said  by  his  friends 
that  in  obtaining  Harold  Smith's  services  the  prime  minis- 
ter had  infused  new  young  healthy  blood  into  his  body. 
Harold  himself  had  liked  the  phrase,  and  had  seen  at  a 
glance  how  it  might  have  been  made  to  tell  by  some  friend- 
ly Supplehouse  or  the  like.  But  why  should  a  Supplehouse 
out  of  Elysium  be  friendly  to  a  Harold  Smith  within  it  ? 
Men  lapped  in  Elysium,  steeped  to  the  neck  in  bliss,  must 
expect  to  see  their  friends  fall  off  from  them.  Human  na- 
ture can  not  stand  it.  If  I  want  to  get  any  thing  from  my 
old  friend  Jones,  I  like  to  see  him  shoved  up  into  a  high 
place.  But  if  Jones,  even  in  his  high  place,  can  do  nothing 
for  me,  then  his  exaltation  above  my  head  is  an  insult  and 
an  injury.  Who  ever  believes  his  own  dear  intimate  com- 
panion to  be  fit  for  the  highest  promotion  ?  Mr.  Supple- 
house had  known  Mr.  Smith  too  closely  to  think  much  of 
his  young  blood. 

Consequently,  there  appeared  an  article  in  the  Jupiter 
which  was  by  no  means  complimentary  to  the  ministry  in 
general.  It  harped  a  good  deal  on  the  young  blood  view 
of  the  question,  and  seemed  to  insinuate  that  Harold  Smith 
was  not  much  better  than  diluted  water.  "  The  prime 
minister,"  the  article  said,  "  having  lately  recruited  his  im- 
paired vigor  by  a  new  infusion  of  aristocratic  influence  of 
the  highest  moral  tone,  had  again  added  to  himself  another 
tower  of  strength  chosen  from  among  the  people.  What 
might  he  not  hope,  now  that  he  possessed  the  services  of 
Lord  Brittleback  and  Mr.  Harold  Smith !  Renovated  in  a 
Medea's  caldron  of  such  potency,  all  his  effete  limbs — and 


222  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

it  must  be  acknowledged  that  some  of  them  had  become 
very  effete — would  come  forth  young,  and  round,  and  ro- 
bust. A  new  energy  would  diffuse  itself  through  every 
department ;  India  would  be  saved  and  quieted ;  the  am- 
bition of  France  w^ould  be  tamed;  even-handed  reform 
would  remodel  our  courts  of  law  and  parliamentary  elec- 
tions ;  and  Utopia  would  be  reahzed.  Such,  it  seems,  is  the 
result  expected  in  the  ministry  from  Mr.  Harold  Smith's 
young  blood !" 

This  was  cruel  enough,  but  even  this  w^as  hardly  so  cruel 
as  the  words  with  which  the  article  ended.  By  that  time 
irony  had  been  dropped,  and  the  writer  spoke  out  earnestly 
his  opinion  upon  the  matter.  "  We  beg  to  assure  Lord 
Brock,"  said  the  article,  "  that  such  alliances  as  these  will 
not  save  him  from  the  speedy  fall  with  which  his  arrogance 
and  want  of  judgment  threaten  to  overwhelm  it.  As  re- 
gards himself,  we  shall  be  sorry  to  hear  of  his  resignation. 
He  is  in  many  respects  the  best  statesman  that  Ave  possess 
for  the  emergencies  of  the  present  period.  But  if  he  be  so 
ill-judged  as  to  rest  on  such  men  as  Mr.  Harold  Smith  and 
Lord  Brittleback  for  his  assistants  in  the  work  which  is  be- 
fore him,  he  must  not  expect  that  the  country  will  support 
him.  Mr.  Harold  Smith  is  not  made  of  the  stuff  from  which 
cabinet  ministers  should  be  formed." 

Mr.  Harold  Smith,  as  he  read  this,  seated  at  his  break- 
fast-table, recognized,  or  said  that  he  recognized,  the  hand 
of  Mr.  Supplehouse  in  every  touch.  That  phrase  about  the 
effete  limbs  was  Supplehouse  all  over,  as  w^as  also  the  real- 
ization of  Utopia.  "When  he  wants  to  be  witty,  he  al- 
w^ays  talks  about  Utopia,"  said  Mr.  Harold  Smith — to  him- 
self; for  Mrs.  Harold  was  not  usually  present  in  the  flesh 
at  these  matutinal  meals. 

And  then  he  went  down  to  his  office,  and  saw  in  the 
glance  of  every  man  that  he  met  an  announcement  that 
that  article  in  the  Jupiter  had  been  read.  His  private  sec- 
retary tittered  in  evident  allusion  to  the  article,  and  the 
way  in  which  Buggins  took  his  coat  made  it  clear  that  it 
was  well  known  in  the  messenger's  lobby.  "He  won't 
have  to  fill  up  my  vacancy  when  I  go,"  Buggins  was  say- 
ing to  himself  And  then  in  the  course  of  the  morning 
came  the  cabinet  council,  the  second  that  he  had  attended, 
and  he  read  in  the  countenance  of  every  god  and  goddess 
there  assembled  that  their  chief  was  thought  to  have  made 


FRAMLEY   PAESONAGE.  223 

another  mistake.  If  Mr.  Supplehouse  could  have  been  in- 
duced to  write  in  another  strain,  then  indeed  that  new 
blood  might  have  been  felt  to  have  been  efficacious. 

All  this  was  a  great  drawback  to  his  happiness,  but  still 
it  could  not  rob  him  of  the  fact  of  his  position.  Lord 
Brock  could  not  ask  him  to  resign  because  the  tTujnter  had 
written  against  him ;  nor  was  Lord  Brock  the  man  to  de- 
sert a  new  colleague  for  such  a  reason.  So  Harold  Smith 
girded  his  loins,  and  went  about  the  duties  of  the  Petty- 
Bag  with  new  zeal.  "  Upon  my  word,  the  Jupiter  is  right," 
said  young  Robarts  to  himself,  as  he  finished  his  fourth 
dozen  of  private  notes  explanatory  of  every  thing  in  and 
about  the  Petty  Bag  Office.  Harold  Smith  required  that 
his  private  secretary's  notes  should  be  so  terribly  precise. 

But,  nevertheless,  in  spite  of  his  drawbacks,  Harold 
Smith  was  happy  in  his  new  honors,  and  Mrs.  Harold  Smith 
enjoyed  them  also.  She  certainly,  among  her  acquaintance, 
did  quiz  the  new  cabinet  minister  not  a  little,  and  it  may 
be  a  question  whether  she  was  not  as  hard  upon  him  as  the 
Avriter  in  the  Jupiter.  She  whispered  a  great  deal  to  Miss 
Dunstable  about  new  blood,  and  talked  of  going  down  to 
Westminster  Bridge  to  see  whether  the  Thames  were  real- 
ly on  fire.  But,  though  she  laughed,  she  triumphed,  and 
though  she  flattered  herself  that  she  bore  her  honors  with- 
out any  outward  sign,  the  world  knew  that  she  was  tri- 
umphing, and  ridiculed  her  elation. 

About  this  time  she  also  gave  a  party — not  a  pure-mind- 
ed conversazione  like  Mrs.  Proudie,  but  a  downright  wick- 
ed worldly  dance,  at  which  there  were  fiddles,  ices,  and 
Champagne  sufficient  to  run  away  with  the  first  quarter's 
salary  accruing  to  Harold  from  the  Petty  Bag  Office.  To 
us  this  ball  is  chiefly  memorable  from  the  fact  that  Lady 
Lufton  was  among  the  guests.  Immediately  on  her  arrival 
in  town  she  received  cards  from  Mrs.  H.  Smith  for  herself 
and  Griselda,  and  was  about  to  send  back  a  reply  at  once 
declining  the  honor.  What  had  she  to  do  at  the  house  of 
Mr.  Sowerby's  sister?  But  it  so  happened  that  at  that 
moment  her  son  was  with  her,  and,  as  he  expressed  a  wish 
that  she  should  go,  she  yielded.  Had  there  been  nothing 
in  his  tone  of  persuasion  more  than  oixlinary — had  it  mere- 
ly had  reference  to  herself,  she  w^ould  have  smiled  on  him 
for  his  kind  solicitude,  have  made  out  some  occasion  for 
kissing  his  forehead  as  she  thanked  him,  and  would  still 


224  FRAMLEY  PAESOIfAGE. 

have  declined.  But  he  had  reminded  her  both  of  himself 
and  Griselda.  "  You  might  as  well  go,  mother,  for  the 
sake  of  meeting  me,"  he  said ;  "  Mrs.  Harold  caught  me 
the  other  day,  and  would  not  liberate  me  till  I  had  given 
her  a  promise." 

"That  is  an  attraction,  certainly,"  said  Lady  Lufton. 
"  I  do  like  going  to  a  house  when  I  know  that  you  will  be 
there." 

"  And,  now  that  Miss  Grantly  is  with  you,  you  owe  it  to 
her  to  do  the  best  you  can  for  her." 

"  I  certainly  do,  Ludovic  ;  and  I  have  to  thank  you  for 
reminding  me  of  my  duty  so  gallantly."  And  so  she  said 
she  would  go  to  Mrs.  Harold  Smith's.  Poor  lady !  She 
gave  much  more  weight  to  those  few  words  about  Miss 
Grantly  than  they  deserved.  It  rejoiced  her  heart  to  think 
that  her  son  was  anxious  to  meet  Griselda — ;that  he  should 
perpetrate  this  little  ruse  in  order  to  gain  his  wish.  But 
he  had  spoken  out  of  the  mere  emptiness  of  his  mind,  with- 
out thought  of  what  he  was  saying,  excepting  that  he 
wished  to  please  his  mother. 

But,  nevertheless,  he  went  to  Mrs.  Harold  Smith's,  and 
when  there  he  did  dance  more  than  once  with  Griselda 
Grantly — to  the  manifest  discomfiture  of  Lord  Dumbello. 
He  came  in  late,  and  at  the  moment  Lord  Dumbello  was 
moving  slowly  up  the  room,  with  Griselda  on  his  arm, 
while  Lady  Lufton  was  sitting  near,  looking  on  with  un- 
happy eyes.  And  then  Griselda  sat  down,  and  Lord  Dum- 
bello stood  mute  at  her  elbow. 

"  Ludovic,"  whispered  his  mother,  "  Griselda  is  absolute- 
ly bored  by  that  man,  Avho  follows  her  like  a  ghost.  Do 
go  and  rescue  her." 

He  did  go  and  rescue  her,  and  afterward  danced  with 
her  for  the  best  part  of  an  hour  consecutively.  He  knew 
that  the  world  gave  Lord  Dumbello  the  credit  of  admiring 
the  young  lady,  and  was  quite  alive  to  the  pleasure  of  fill- 
ing his  brother  nobleman's  heart  with  jealousy  and  anger. 
Moreover,  Griselda  was  in  his  eyes  very  beautiful,  and,  had 
fehe  been  one  whit  more  animated,  or  had  his  mother's  tac- 
tics been  but  a  thought  better  concealed,  Griselda  might 
have  been  asked  that  night  to  share  the  vacant  throne  at 
Lufton,  in  spite  of  all  that  had  been  said  and  sworn  in  the 
drawing-room  of  Framley  Parsonage. 

It  must  be  Remembered  that  our  gallant,  gay  Lothario 


FEAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  225 

had  passed  some  considerable  number  of  days  with  Miss 
Grantly  in  his  mother's  house,  and  the  danger  of  such  con- 
tiguity must  be  remembered  also.  Lord  Lufton  was  by  no 
means  a  man  capable  of  seeing  beauty  unmoved,  or  of 
spending  hours  with  a  young  lady  without  some  approach 
to  tenderness.  Had  there  been  no  such  approach,  it  is 
probable  that  Lady  Lufton  would  not  have  pursued  the 
matter.  But,  according  to  her  ideas  on  such  subjects,  her 
son  Ludovic  had  on  some  occasions  shown  quite  sufficient 
partiality  for  Miss  Grantly  to  justify  her  in  her  hopes,  and 
to  lead'  her  to  think  that  nothing  but  opportunity  was 
wanted.  Now,  at  this  ball  of  Mrs.  Smith's,  he  did,  for  a 
while,  seem  to  be  taking  advantage  of  such  'opportunity, 
and  his  mother's  heart  was  glad.  If  things  should  turn 
out  well  on  this  evening,  she  would  forgive  Mrs.  Harold 
Smith  all  her  sins. 

And  for  a  while  it  looked  as  though  things  would  turn 
out  well.  Not  that  it  must  be  supposed  that  Lord  Lufton 
had  come  there  with  any  intention  of  making  love  to  Gri- 
selda,  or  that  he  ever  had  any  fixed  thought  that  he  was 
doing  so.  Young  men  in  such  matters  are  so  often  with- 
out any  fixed  thoughts !  They  are  such  absolute  moths. 
They  amuse  themselves  with  the  light  of  the  beautiful  can- 
dle, fluttering  about,  on  and  off*,  in  and  out  of  the  flame 
with  dazzled  eyes,  till  in  a  rash  moment  they  rush  in  too 
near  the  wick,  and  then  fall  with  singed  wings  and  crippled 
legs,  burnt  up  and  reduced  to  tinder  by  the  consuming  fire 
of  matrimony.  Happy  marriages,  men  say,  are  made  in 
heaven,  and  I  believe  it.  Most  marriages  are  fairly  happy, 
in  spite  of  Sir  Cress  well  Cresswell ;  and  yet  how  little  care 
is  taken  on  earth  toward  such  a  result ! 

"I  hope  my  mother  is  using  you  well!"  said  Lord  Luf- 
ton to  Griselda,  as  they  were  standing  together  in  a  door- 
way between  the  dances. 

"Oh  yes,  she  is  very  kind." 

"You  have  been  rash  to  trust  yourself  in  the  hands  of 
so  very  staid  and  demure  a  person.  And,  indeed,  you  owe 
your  presence  here  at  Mrs.  Harold  Smith's  first  cabinet  ball 
altogether  to  me.  I  don't  know  whether  you  are  aware 
of  that." 

"  Oh  yes,  Lady  Lufton  told  me." 

"And  are  you  grateful  or  otherwise  ?  Have  I  done  you 
an  injury  or  a  benefit  ?     Which  do  you  find  best,  sitting 

K2 


226  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

Avith  a  novel  in  the  corner  of  a  sofa  in  Bruton  Street,  or 
pretending  to  dance  polkas  here  with  Lord  Dumbello  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean.  I  haven't  stood  up  with 
Lord  Dumbello  all  the  evening.  We  were  going  to  dance 
a  quadrille,  but  Ave  didn't." 

"  Exactly ;  just  Avhat  I  say — pretending  to  do  it.  Even 
that's  a  good  deal  for  Lord  Dumbello;  isn't  it?"  And 
then  Lord  Lufton,  not  being  a  pretender  himself,  put  his 
arm  round  her  Avaist,  and  aAvay  they  Avent  up  and  down 
the  room,  and  across  and  about,  Avith  an  energy  Avhich 
shoAved  that  Avhat  Griselda  lacked  in  her  tongue  she  made 
up  with  her  feet.  Lord  Dumbello,  in  the  mean  time,  stood 
by,  observant,  thinking  to  himself  that  Lord  Lufton  Avas  a 
glib-tongued,  empty-headed  ass,  and  reflecting  that  if  his 
riA^al  Avere  to  break  the  tendons  of  his  leg  in  one  of  those 
rapid  evolutions,  or  suddenly  come  by  any  other  dreadful 
misfortune,  such  as  the  loss  of  all  his  property,  absolute 
blindness,  or  chronic  lumbago,  it  Avould  only  serve  him 
right.  And  in  that  frame  of  mind  he  Avent  to  bed,  in  spite 
of  the  prayer  Avhich  no  doubt  he  said  as  to  his  forgiveness 
of  other  people's  trespasses. 

And  then,  Avhen  they  Avere  again  standing.  Lord  Lufton, 
in  the  little  intervals  betAvecn  his  violent  gasps  for  fresh 
breath,  asked  Griselda  if  she  liked  London.  "Pretty 
Avell,"  said  Griselda,  gasping  also  a  little  herself 

"  I  am  afraid — you  Avere  A'ery  dull — down  at  Framley." 

"  Oh  no ;  I  liked  it — particularly." 

"  It  Avas  a  great  bore  Avhen  you  Avent — aAvay,  I  know. 
There  Avasn't  a  soul — about  the  house  Avorth  speaking  to." 
And  they  remained  silent  for  a  minute  till  their  lungs  had 
become  quiescent. 

"  Not  a  soul,"  he  continued — not  of  falsehood  prepense, 
for  he  AA^as  not,  in  fact,  thinking  of  Avhat  he  Avas  saying. 
It  did  not  occur  to  him  at  the  moment  that  he  had  truly 
found  Griselda's  going  a  great  relief,  and  that  he  had  been 
able  to  do  more  in  the  Avay  of  conversation  Avith  Lucy 
Robarts  in  one  hour  than  Avith  Miss  Grantly  during  a 
month  of  intercourse  in  the  same  house.  But,  neverthe- 
less, Ave  should  not  be  hard  upon  him.  All  is  fair  in  love 
and  Avar ;  and  if  this  Avas  not  love,  it  was  the  usual  thing 
that  stands  as  a  counterpart  for  it. 

"  Not  a  soul,"  said  Lord  Lufton.  "  I  Avas  very  nearly 
hanging  myself  in  the  park  next  morning — only  it  rained." 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  227 

"  What  nonsense  I     You  had  your  mother  to  talk  to." 

"  Oh,  my  mother — yes  ;  and  you  may  tell  me,  too,  if  you 
please,  that  Captain  Culpepper  was  there.  I  do  love  my 
mother  dearly ;  but  do  you  think  that  she  could  make  up 
for  your  absence  ?"  And  his  voice  was  very  tender,  and 
so  were  his  eyes. 

"  And  Miss  Robarts ;  I  thought  you  admired  her  very 
much." 

"  What,  Lucy  Robarts  ?"  said  Lord  Lufton,  feeling  that 
Lucy's  name  was  more  than  he  at  present  knew  how  to 
manage.  Indeed,  that  name  destroyed  all  the  life  there 
was  in  that  little  flirtation.  "  I  do  like  Lucy  Robarts,  cer- 
tainly. She  is  very  clever ;  but  it  so  happened  that  I  saw 
little  or  nothing  of  her  after  you  were  gone." 

To  this  Griselda  made  no  answer,  but  drew  herself  up, 
and  looked  as  cold  as  Diana  when  she  froze  Orion  in  the 
cave.  Nor  could  she  be  got  to  give  more  than  monosyl- 
labic answers  to  the  three  or  four  succeeding  attempts  at 
conversation  which  Lord  Lufton  made.  And  then  they 
danced  again,  but  Griselda's  steps  were  by  no  means  so 
lively  as  before. 

What  took  place  between  them  on  that  occasion  was 
very  little  more  than  what  has  been  here  related.  There 
may  have  been  an  ice  or  a  glass  of  lemonade  into  the  bar- 
gain, and  perhaps  the  faintest  possible  attempt  at  haad- 
pressing.  But  if  so,  it  was  all  on  one  side.  To  such  over- 
tures as  that  Griselda  Grantly  was  as  cold  as  any  Diana. 

But,  little  as  all  this  was,  it  was  sufiicient  to  fill  Lady 
Lufton's  mind  and  heart.  No  mother  w^ith  six  daughters 
was  ever  more  anxious  to  get  them  off  her  hands  than 
Lady  Lufton  was  to  see  her  son  married — married,  that  is, 
to  some  girl  of  the  right  sort.  And  now  it  really  did.  seem 
as  though  he  were  actually  going  to  comply  with  her  Avish- 
es.  She  had  watched  him  during  the  whole  evening,  pain- 
fully endeavoring  not  to  be  observed  in  doing  so.  She 
had  seen  Lord  Dumbello's  failure  and  wi-ath,  and  she  had 
seen  her  sou's  victory  and  pride.  Could  it  be  the  case  that 
he  had  already  said  something  which  was  still  allowed  to 
be  indecisive  only  through  Griselda's  coldness?  Might 
it  not  be  the  case  that,  by  some  judicious  aid  on  her  part, 
that  indecision  might  be  turned  into  certainty,  and  that 
coldness  into  warmth  ?  But  then  any  such  interference  re- 
quires so  delicate  a  touch,  as  Lady  Lufton  was  well  aware. 


228  PRAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

"  Have  you  had  a  pleasant  evening  ?"  Lady  Lufton  said, 
when  she  and  Griselda  were  seated  together  with  their 
feet  on  the  fender  of  her  ladyship's  dressing-room.  Lady 
Lufton  had  especially  invited  her  guest  into  this,  her  most 
private  sanctum,  to  which,  as  a  rule,  none  had  admittance 
but  her  daughter,  and  sometimes  Fanny  Robarts.  But  to 
what  sanctum  might  not  such  a  daughter-in-law  as  Grisel- 
da have  admittance  ? 

"  Oh  yes — very,"  said  Griselda. 

"  It  seemed  to  me  that  you  bestowed  most  of  your  smiles 
on  Ludovic."  And  Lady  Lufton  put  on  a  look  of  good 
pleasure  that  such  should  have  been  the  case. 

"Oh  !  I  don't  know,"  said  Griselda;  "I  did  dance  with 
him  two  or  three  times." 

"  Not  once  too  often  to  please  me,  my  dear.  I  like  to 
see  Ludovic  dancing  with  my  friends." 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  yon,  Lady  Luf- 
ton." 

"  l^ot  at  all,  my  dear.  I  don't  know  where  he  could  get 
so  nice  a  partner."  And  then  she  paused  a  moment,  not 
feeling  how  far  she  might  go.  In  the  menu  time  Griselda 
sat  still,  staring  at  the  hot  coals.  "  Indeed,  I  know  that  he 
admires  you  very  much,"  continued  Lady  Lufton. 

"Oh  no,  I  am  sure  he  doesn't,"  said  Griselda;  and  then 
there  was  another  pause. 

"  I  can  only  say  this,"  said  Lady  Lufton,  "  that  if  he  does 
do  so — and  I  believe  he  does — it  would  give  me  very  great 
pleasure ;  for  you  know,  my  dear,  that  I  am  very  fond  of 
you  myself" 

"  Oh !  thank  you,"  said  Griselda,  and  stared  at  the  coals 
more  perseveringly  than  before. 

"  He  is  a  young  man  of  a  most  excellent  disposition — 
though  he  is  my  own  son,  I  will  say  that — and  if  there 
should  be  any  thing  between  you  and  him — " 

"There  isn't,  indeed.  Lady  Lufton." 

"But  if  there  ever  should  be,  I  should  be  delighted  to 
think  that  Ludovic  had  made  so  good  a  choice." 

"  But  there  will  never  be  any  thing  of  the  sort,  I'm  sure, 
Lady  Lufton.  He  is  not  thinking  of  such  a  thing  in  the 
least." 

"Well,  perhaps  he  may  some  day.  And  now  good- 
night, my  dear." 

"  Good-night,  Lady  Lufton."     And  Griselda  kissed  her 


FEAMLEY   PAESONAGE.  229 

with  the  utmost  composure,  and  betook  herself  to  her  own 
bedroom.  Before  she  retired  to  sleep  she  looked  carefully 
to  her  different  articles  of  dress,  discovering  what  amount 
of  damage  the  evening's  wear  and  tear  might  have  inflicted. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

WHY   PUCK,  THE   PONY,  WAS   BEATEN. 

Mark  Robarts  returned  home  the  day  after  the  scene 
at  the  Albany  considerably  relieved  in  spirit.  He  now  felt 
that  he  might  accept  the  stall  without  discredit  to  himself 
as  a  clergyman  in  doing  so.  Indeed,  after  what  Mr.  Sow- 
erby  had  said,  and  after  Lord  Lufton's  assent  to  it,  it  would 
have  been  madness,  he  considered,  to  decline  it.  And  then, 
too,  Mr.  Sowerby's  promise  about  the  bills  was  very  com- 
fortable to  him.  After  all,  might  it  not  be  possible  that  he 
might  get  rid  of  all  these  troubles  with  no  other  drawback 
than  that  of  having  to  pay  £130  for  a  horse  that  was  well 
worth  the  money  ? 

On  the  dajT  after  his  retuVn  he  received  proper  authentic 
tidings  of  his  presentation  to  the  prebend.  He  was,  in 
fact,  already  prebendary,  or  would  be  as  soon  as  the  dean 
and  chapter  had  gone  through  the  form  of  instituting  him 
in  his  stall.  The  income  was  already  his  own ;  and  the 
house  also  would  be  given  up  to  him  in  a  week's  time — a 
part  of  the  arrangement  with  which  he  Avould  most  will- 
ingly have  dispensed  had  it  been  at  all  possible  to  do  so. 
His  wife  congratulated  him  nicely,  with  open  affection,  and 
apparent  satisfaction  at  the  arrangement.  The  enjoyment 
of  one's  own  happiness  at  such  windfalls  depends  so  much 
on  the  free  and  freely  expressed  enjoyment  of  others! 
Lady  Lufton's  congratulations  had  nearly  made  him  throw 
up  the  whole  thing;  but  his  wife's  smiles  re-encouraged 
him ;  and  Lucy's  warm  and  eager  joy  made  him  feel  quite 
delighted  with  Mr.  Sowerby  and  the  Duke  of  Omnium. 
And  then  that  splendid  animal.  Dandy,  came  home  to  the 
Parsonage  stables,  much  to  the  delight  of  the  groom  and 
gardener,  and  of  the  assistant  stable-boy,  who  had  been  al- 
lowed to  creep  into  the  establishment,  unawares  as  it  were, 
since  "  master"  had  taken  so  keenly  to  hunting.  But  this 
satisfaction  was  not  shared  in  the  drawing-room.  The 
horse  was  seen  on  his  first  journey  round  to  the  stable 


230  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

gate,  and  questions  were  immediately  asked.  It  was  a 
horse,  Mark  said,  "  which  lie  had  bought  from  Mr.  Sower- 
by  some  little  time  since  with  the  object  of  obliging  him. 
He,  Mark,  intended  to  sell  him  again  as  soon  as  he  could 
do  so  judiciously."  This,  as  I  have  said  above,  was  not 
satisfactory.  Neither  of  the  two  ladies  at  Framley  Par- 
sonage knew  much  about  horses,  or  of  the  manner  in  which 
one  gentleman  might  think  it  proper  to  oblige  another  by 
purchasing  the  superfluities  of  his  stable ;  but  they  did  both 
feel  that  there  were  horses  enough  in  the  Parsonage  stable 
without  Dandy,  and  that  the  purchasing  of  a  hunter  Avith 
the  view  of  immediately  selling  him  again  was,  to  say  the 
least  of  it,  an  operation  hardly  congenial  with  the  usual 
tastes  and  pursuits  of  a  clergyman. 

"I  hope  you  did  not  give  very  much  money  for  him, 
Mark,"  said  Fanny. 

"  Not  more  than  I  shall  get  again,"  said  Mark ;  and  Fan- 
ny saw  from  the  form  of  his  countenance  that  she  had  bet- 
ter not  pursue  the  subject  any  farther  at  that  moment. 

"I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  go  into  residence  almost  im- 
mediately," said  Mark,  recurring  to  the  more  agreeable 
subject  of  the  stall. 

"  And  shall  we  all  have  to  go  and  live  at  Barchester  at 
once  ?"  asked  Lucy. 

"  The  house  will  not  be  furnished,  will  it,  Mark  ?"  said 
his  wife.     "I  don't  know  how  we  shall  get  on." 

"Don't  frighten  yourselves.  I  shall  take  lodgings  in 
Barchester." 

"  And  we  shall  not  see  you  all  the  time,"  said  Mrs.  Ro- 
barts  -with  dismay.  But  the  prebendary  explained  that  he 
would  be  backward  and  forward  at  Framley  every  week, 
and  that,  in  all  probability,  he  would  only  sleep  at  Bar- 
chester on  the  Saturdays  and  Sundays — and,  perhaps,  not 
always  then. 

"  It  does  not  seem  very  hard  work,  that  of  a  prebendary," 
said  Lucy." 

"  But  it  is  very  dignified,"  said  Fanny.  "  Prebendaries 
are  dignitaries  of  the  Church — are  they  not,  Mark?" 

"Decidedly,"  said  he;  "and  their  wives  also,  by  special 
canon  law.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  both  of  them  are  obliged 
to  wear  wigs." 

"  Shall  you  have  a  hat,  Mark,  with  curly  things  at  the 
side,  and  strings  through  to  hold  them  up  ?"  asked  Lucy. 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  231 

"  I  fear  that  does  not  come  Avithin  my  perquisites." 

"  Nor  a  rosette  ?  Tlien  I  shall  never  believe  that  you 
are  a  dignitary.  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  will  wear 
a  hat  like  a  common  parson — like  Mr.  Crawley,  for  in- 
stance ?" 

"  Well,  I  believe  I  may  give  a  twist  to  the  leaf;  but  I 
am  by  no  means  sure  till  1  shall  have  consulted  the  dean 
in  chapter." 

And  thus  at  the  Parsonage  they  talked  over  the  good 
things  that  were  coming  to  them,  and  endeavored  to  forget 
the  new  horse,  and  the  hunting-boots  that  had  been  used 
so  often  during  the  last  winter,  and  Lady  Lufton's  altered 
countenance.  It  might  be  that  the  evils  would  vanish 
away,  and  the  good  things  alone  remain  to  them. 

It  was  now  the  month  of  April,  and  the  fields  were  be^ 
ginning  to  look  green,  and  the  wind  had  got  itself  out  of 
the  east,  and  was  soft  and  genial,  and  the  early  spring  flow- 
ers were  showing  their  bright  colors  in  the  Parsonage  gar- 
den, and  all  things  were  sweet  and  pleasant.  This  was  a 
period  of  the  year  that  was  usually  dear  to  Mrs.  Robarts. 
Her  husband  was  always  a  better  parson  when  the  warm 
months  came  than  he  had  been  dunng  the  winter.  The 
distant  county  friends  whom  she  did  not  know  and  of  whom 
she  did  not  approve  went  away  when  the  spring  came,  leav- 
ing their  houses  innocent  and  empty.  The  parish  duty  was 
better  attended  to,  and  perhaps  domestic  duties  also.  At 
such  period  he  was  a  pattern  parson  and  a  pattern  husband, 
atoning  to  his  own  conscience  for  past  shortcomings  by 
present  zeal.  And  then,  though  she  had  never  acknowl- 
edged it  to  herself,  the  absence  of  her  dear  friend  Lady 
Lufton  was  perhaps  in  itself  not  disagreeable.  Mrs.  Ro- 
barts did  love  Lady  Lufton  heartily ;  but  it  must  be  ac- 
knowledged of  her  ladyship  that,  Avith  all  her  good  quali- 
ties, she  was  inclined  to  be  masterful.  She  liked  to  rule, 
and  she  made  people  feel  that  she  liked  it.  Mrs.  Robarts 
would  never  have  confessed  that  she  labored  under  a  sense 
of  thraldom,  but  perhaps  she  was  mouse  enough  to  enjoy 
the  temporary  absence  of  her  kind-hearted  cat.  When 
Lady  Lufton  Avas  away,  Mrs.  Robarts  herself  had  more 
play  in  the  parish. 

And  Mark  also  was  not  unhappy,  though  he  did  not  find 
it  practicable  immediately  to  turn  Dandy  into  money.  In- 
deed, just  at  this  moment,  when  he  was  a  good  deal  over 


232  FEAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

at  Barchester,  going  through  those  deep  mysteries  and 
rigid  ecclesiastical  examinations  whicli  are  necessary  be- 
fore a  clergyman  can  become  one  of  a  chapter,  Dandy  was 
rather  a  tboi-n  in  his  side.  Those  wretched  bills  were  to 
come  due  early  in  May,  and  before  the  end  of  April  Sow- 
erby  wrote  to  him  saying  that  he  was  doing  his  utmost  to 
provide  for  the  evil  day ;  but  that,  if  the  price  of  Dandy 
could  be  remitted  to  him  at  once^  it  would  greatly  facili- 
tate his  object.  Nothing  could  be  more  different  than  Mr. 
Sowerby's  tone  about  money  at. different  times.  When  he 
wanted  to  raise  the  wind,  every  thing  was  so  important; 
haste  and  superhuman  efforts,  and  men  running  to  and  fro 
with  blank  acceptances  in  their  hands,  could  alone  stave 
off  the  crack  of  doom ;  but  at  other  times,  when  retaliatory 
applications  were  made  to  him,  he  could  prove  with  the 
easiest  voice  and  most  jaunty  manner  that  everything  was 
quite  serene.  Now,  at  this  period,  he  was  in  that  mood 
of  superhuman  efforts,  and  he  called  loudly  for  the  hundred 
and  thirty  pounds  for  Dandy.  After  what  had  passed, 
Mark  could  not  bring  himself  to  say  that  he  would  pay 
nothhig  till  the  bills  were  safe,  and  therefore,  with  the  as- 
sistance of  Mr.  Forrest  of  the  Bank,  he  did  remit  the  price 
of  Dandy  to  his  friend  Sowerby  in  London. 

And  Lucy  Robarts — we  must  now  say  a  word  of  her. 
We  have  seen  how  on  that  occasion,  when  the  world  was 
at  her  feet,  she  had  sent  her  noble  suitor  away,  not  only 
dismissed,  but  so  dismissed  that  he  might  be  taught  never 
again  to  offer  to  her  the  sweet  incense  of  his  vows.  She 
had  declared  to  him  plainly  that  she  did  not  love  him  and 
could  not  love  him,  and  had  thus  thrown  away  not  only 
riches,  and  honor,  and  high  station,  but  more  than  that — 
much  worse  than  that — she  had  flung  away  from  her  the 
lover  to  whose  love  her  warm  heart  clung.  That  her  love 
did  cling  to  him  she  knew  even  then,  and  owned  more  thor- 
oughly as  soon  as  he  was  gone.  So  much  her  pride  had 
done  for  her,  and  that  strong  resolve  that  Lady  Lufton 
should  not  scowl  on  her  and  tell  her  that  she  had  entrap- 
ped her  son. 

I  know  it  will  be  said  of  Lord  Lufton  himself  that,  put- 
ting aside  his  peerage  and  broad  acres,  and  handsome,  son- 
sy face,  he  was  not  worth  a  girl's  care  and  love.  That  will 
be  said  because  people  think  that  heroes  in  books  should 
be  so  much  better  than  heroes  got  up  for  the  world's  com- 


FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE.  233 

mon  wear  and  tear.  I  may  as  well  confess  that  of  absolute, 
true  heroism  there  was  only  a  moderate  admixture  in  Lord 
Lufton's  composition  ;  but  what  would  the  world  come  to 
if  none  but  absolute  true. heroes  were  to  be  thought  w^or- 
thy  of  women's  love?  What  would  the  men  do?  and 
what — oh!  what  would  become  of  the  women?  Lucy 
Kobarts,  in  her  heart,  did  not  give  her  dismissed  lover 
credit  for  much  more  heroism  than  did  truly  appertain  to 
him — did  not,  perhaps,  give  him  full  credit  for  a  certain 
amount  of  heroism  which  did  really  appertain  to  him ;  but, 
nevertheless,  she  would  have  been  very  glad  to  take  him 
could  she  have  done  so  without  wounding  her  pride. 

That  girls  should  not  marry  for  money  we  are  all  agreed. 
A  lady  who  can  sell  herself  for  a  title  or  an  estate,  for  an 
income  or  a  set  of  family  diamonds,  treats  herself  as  a  farm- 
er treats  his  sheep  and  oxen — makes  hardly  more  of  her- 
self, of  her  own  inner  self,  in  which  are  comprised  a  mind 
and  soul,  than  the  poor  wretch  of  her  own  sex  who  earns 
her  bread  in  the  lowest  stage  of  degradation.  But  a  title, 
and  an  estate,  and  an  income,  are  matters  which  will  weigh 
in  the  balance  with  all  Eve's  daughters,  as  they  do  with  all 
Adam's  sons.  Pride  of  place,  and  the  power  of  living  well 
in  front  of  the  Avorld's  eye,  are  dear  to  us  all — are  doubt- 
less intended  to  be  dear.  Only,  in  acknowledging  so  much, 
let  us  remember  that  there  are  prices  at  which  these  good 
things  may  be  too  costly.  Therefore,  being  desirous,  too, 
of  telling  the  truth  in  this  matter,  I  must  confess  that  Lucy 
did  speculate  with  some  regret  on  what  it  would  have  been 
to  be  Lady  Lufton.  To  have  been  the  wife  of  such  a  man, 
the  owner  of  such  a  heart,  the  mistress  of  such  a  destiny, 
what  more  or  what  better  could  the  world  have  done  for 
her  ?  And  now  she  had  thrown  all  that  aside  because  she 
would  not  endure  that  Lady  Lufton  should  call  her  a  schem- 
ing, artful  girl!  Actuated  by  that  fear,  she  had  repulsed 
him  with  a  falsehood,  though  the  matter  was  one  on  which 
it  was  so  terribly  expedient  that  she  should  tell  the  truth. 
And  yet  she  was  cheerful  with  her  brother  and  sister-in- 
law.  It  was  when  she  was  quite  alone — at  night  in  her 
own  room,  or  in  her  solitary  walks — that  a  single  silent 
tear  would  gather  in  the  corner  of  her  eye  and  gradually 
moisten  her  eyelids.  "  She  never  told  her  love,"  nor  did 
she  allow  concealilient  to  "  feed  on  her  damask  cheek."  In 
all  her  employments,  in  her  ways  about  the  house,  and  her 


234  FEAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

accustomed  quiet  mirth,  she  was  the  same  as  ever.  In  this 
she  showed  the  pecuHar  strength  which  God  had  given  her. 
But  not  the  less  did  she  in  truth  mourn  for  her  lost  love 
and  spoiled  ambition. 

"  We  are  going  to  drive  over  to  Hogglestock  this  morn- 
ing," Fanny  said  one  day  at  breakfast.  "  I  suppose,  Mark, 
you  won't  go  with  us  ?" 

"  Well,  no,  I  think  not.  The  pony  carriage  is  wretched 
for  three." 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,  I  should  have  thought  the  new  horse 
might  have  been  able  to  carry  you  as  far  as  that.  I  heard 
you  say  you  wanted  to  see  Mr.  Crawley." 

"  So  I  do ;  and  the  new  horse,  as  you  call  him,  shall  carry 
me  there  to-morrow.  Will  you  say  that  I'll  be  over  about 
twelve  o'clock  ?" 

"  You  had  better  say  earlier,  as  he  is  always  out  about 
the  parish." 

"  Very  well,  say  eleven.  It  is  parish  business  about 
which  I  am  going,  so  it  need  not  irk  his  conscience  to  stay 
in  for  me." 

"  Well,  Lucy,  we  must  drive  ourselves,  that's  all.  You 
shall  be  charioteer  going,  and  then  we'll  change  coming 
back."  To  all  which  Lucy  agreed,  and  as  soon  as  their 
work  in  the  school  was  over  they  started. 

Not  a  word  had  been  spoken  between  them  about  Lord 
Lufton  since  that  evening,  now  more  than  a  month  ago,  on 
which  they  had  been  walking,  together  in  the  garden.  Lucy 
had  so  demeaned  herself  on  that  occasion  as  to  make  her 
sister-in-law  quite  sure  that  there  had  been  no  love  pas- 
sages up  to  that  time,  and  nothing  had  since  occurred 
which  had  created  any  suspicion  in  Mrs.  Robarts'  mind. 
She  had  seen  at  once  that  all  the  close  intimacy  between 
them  was  over,  and  thought  that  every  thing  was  as  it 
should  be. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  have  an  idea,"  she  said  in  the  pony 
carriage  that  day,  "that  Lord  Lufton  will  marry  Griselda 
Grantly." 

Lucy  could  not  refrain  from  giving  a  little  check  at  the 
reins  Avhich  she  was  holding,  and  she  felt  that  the  blood 
rushed  quickly  to  her  heart.  But  she  did  not  betray  her- 
self "  Perhaps  he  may,"  she  said,  and  then  gave  the  pony 
a  little  touch  with  her  whip. 

"  Oh,  Lucy,  I  won't  have  Puck  beaten.  He  was  going 
very  nicely." 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  235 

"  I  beg  Puck's  pardou.  But  you  see,  when  one  is  trust- 
ed with  a  whip,  one  feels  such  a  longing  to  use  it." 

"  Oh,  but  you  should  keep  it  still.  I  feel  almost  certain 
that  Lady  Lufton  would  hke  such  a  match." 

"I  dare  say  she  might.  Miss  Grantly  willhave  a  large 
fortune,  I  believe." 

"  It  is  not  that  altogether ;  but  she  is  the  sort  of  young 
lady  that  Lady  Lufton  likes.  She  is  ladylike  and  very 
beautiful — " 

"  Come,  Fanny !" 

"  I  really  think  she  is ;  not  what  I  should  call  lovely, 
you  know,  but  very  beautiful.  And  then  she  is  quiet  and 
reserved ;  she  does  not  require  excitement,  and  I  am  sure 
is  conscientious  in  the  performance  of  her  duties." 

"  Very  conscientious,  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Lucy,  with 
something  like  a  sneer  in  her  tone.  "  But  the  question,  I 
suppose,  is  whether  Lord  Lufton  likes  her." 

"  I  think  he  does — in  a  sort  of  way.  He  did  not  talk  to 
her  so  much  as  he  did  to  you — " 

"  Ah !  that  was  all  Lady  Lufton's  fault,  because  she 
didn't  have  him  properly  labeled." 

"  There  does  not  seem  to  have  been  much  harm  done  ?" 

"  Oh !  by  God's  mercy,  very  little.  As  for  me,  I  shall 
get  over  it  in  three  or  four  years,  I  don't  doubt — that's  if 
I  can  get  ass's  milk  and  cliange  of  air." 

"  We'll  take  you  to  Barchester  for  that.  But,  as  I  was 
saying,  I  really  do  think  Lord  Lufton  likes  Griselda  Grantly." 

"Then  I  really  do  think  that  he  has  uncommon  bad 
taste,"  said  Lucy,  with  a  reality  in  her  voice  differing  very 
much  from  tlie  tone  of  banter  she  had  hitherto  used. 

"  What,  Lucy !"  said  her  sister-in-law,  looking  at  her. 
"  Then  I  fear  we  shall  really  want  the  ass's  milk." 

"Perhaps,  considering  my  position,  I  ought  to  know 
nothing  of  Lord  Lufton,  for  you  say  that  it  is  very  danger- 
ous for  young  ladies  to  know  young  gentlemen.  But  I  do 
know  enough  of  him  to  understand  that  he  ought  not  to 
like  such  a  girl  as  Griselda  Grantly.  He  ought  to  know 
that  she  is  a  mere  automaton,  cold,  lifeless,  spiritless,  and 
even  vapid.  There  is,  I  believe,  nothing  in  her  mentally, 
whatever  may  be  her  moral  excellences.  To  me  she  is 
more  absolutely  like  a  statue  than  any  other  human  being 
I  ever  saw\  To  sit  still  and  be  admired  is  all  that  she  de- 
sires ;  and  if  she  can  not  get  that,  to  sit  still  and  not  be  ad- 


23 G  FZiAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

mired  would  almost  suffice  for  her.  I  do  not  worship  Lady 
Lufton  as  you  do,  but  I  think  quite  well  enough  of  her  to 
wonder  that  she  should  choose  such  a  girl  as  that  for  her 
son's  wife.  That  she  does  wish  it  I  do  not  doubt ;  but  I 
shall  indeed  be  surprised  if  he  wishes  it  also."  And  then, 
as  she  finished  her  speech,  Lucy  again  flogged  the  pony. 
This  she  did  in  vexation,  because  she  felt  that  the  telltale 
blood  had  suffused  her  face. 

"  Why,  Lucy,  if  he  were  your  brother  you  could  not  be 
more  eager  about  it." 

*'  No,  I  could  not.  He  is  the  only  man  friend  with  whom 
I  was  ever  intimate,  and  I  can  not  bear  to  think  that  he 
should  throw  himself  away.  It's  horridly  improper  to  care 
about  such  a  thing,  I  have  no  doubt." 

"  I  think  we  might  acknowledge  that  if  he  and  his  mother 
are  both  satisfied,  we  may  be  satisfied  also." 

"  I  shall  not  be  satisfied.  It's  no  use  your  looking  at  me, 
Fanny.  You  will  make  me  talk  of  it,  and  I  won't  tell  a  lie 
on  the  subject.  I  do  like  Lord  Lufton  very  much,  and  I 
do  dislike  Griselda  Grantly  almost  as  much ;  therefore  I 
shall  not  be  satisfied  if  they  become  man  and  wife.  How- 
ever, I  do  not  suppose  that  either  of  them  will  ask  my  con- 
sent, nor  is  it  probable  that  Lady  Lufton  will  do  so."  And 
then  they  went  on  for  perhaps  a  quarter  of  a  mile  without 
speaking. 

"  Poor  Puck !"  at  last  Lucy  said.  "  He  shaVt  be  whip- 
ped any  more,  shall  he,  because  Miss  Grantly  looks  like  a 
statue?  And,  Fanny,  don't  tell  Mark  to  put  me  into  a 
lunatic  asylum.  I  also  know  a  hawk  from  a  heron,  and 
that's  why  I  don't  like  to  see  such  a  very  unfitting  mar- 
riage." There  was  then  nothing  more  said  on  the  subject, 
and  in  two  minutes  they  arrived  at  the  house  of  the  Hog- 
glestock  clergyman. 

Mrs.  Crawley  had  brought  two  children  Avith  her  when 
she  came  from  the  Cornish  curacy  to  Hogglestock,  and  two 
other  babies  had  been  added  to  her  cares  since  then.  One 
of  these  was  now  ill  with  croup,  and  it  was  with  the  object 
of  offering  to  the  mother  some  comfort  and  solace  that  the 
present  visit  was  made.  The  two  ladies  got  down  from 
their  carriage,  having  obtained  the  services  of  a  boy  to 
hold  Puck,  and  soon  found  themselves  in  Mrs.  Crawley's 
single  sitting-room.  She  was  sitting  there  with  her  foot 
on  the  boai'd  of  a  child's  cradle,  rocking  it,  while  an  infant 


FKAMLEY  PARSONAGE.  237 

about  three  months  old  was  lying  in  her  lap ;  for  the  elder 
one,  who  was  the  sufterer,  had  in  her  illness  usurped  the 
baby's  place.  Two  other  children,  considerably  older,  were 
also  in  the  room.  The  eldest  was  a  girl,  perhaps  nine  years 
of  age,  and  the  other  a  boy  three  years  her  junior.  These 
Avere  standing  at  their  father's  elbow,  who  was  studiously 
endeavoring  to  initiate  them  in  the  early  mysteries  of  gram- 
mar. To  tell  the  truth,  Mrs.  Robarts  would  much  have 
preferred  that  Mr.  Crawley  had  not  been  there,  for  she  had 
with  her  and  about  her  certain  contraband  articles,  pres- 
ents for. the  children,  as  they  were  to  be  called,  but  in  truth 
relief  for  that  poor,  much-tasked  mother,  which  they  knew 
it  would  be  impossible  to  introduce  in  Mr.  Crawley's  pres- 
ence. 

She,  as  we  have  said,  was  not  quite  so  gaunt,  not  alto- 
gether so  haggard  as  in  the  latter  of  those  dreadful  Cornish 
days.  Lady  Lufton  and  Mrs.  Arabin  between  them,  and 
the  scanty  comfort  of  their  improved,  though  still  wretched 
income,  had  done  something  toward  bringing  her  back  to 
the  world  in  which  she  had  lived  in  the  soft  days  of  her 
childhood.  But  even  the  liberal  stipend  of  a  hundred  and 
thirty  pounds  a  year — liberal  according  to  the  scale  by 
which  the  incomes  of  clergymen  in  some  of  our  new  dis- 
tricts are  now  apportioned — would  not  admit  of  a  gentle- 
man with  his  wife  and  four  children  living  with  the  ordi- 
nary comforts  of  an  artisan's  family.  As  regards  the  mere 
eating  and  drinking,  the  amounts  of  butcher's  meat  and 
tea  and  butter,  they,  of  course,  were  used  in  quantities 
which  any  artisan  would  have  regarded  as  compatible  only 
with  demi-starvation.  Better  clothing  for  her  children 
was  necessary,  and  better  clothing  for  him.  As  for  her 
own  raiment,  the  wives  of  few  artisans  would  have  been 
content  to  put  up  with  Mrs.  Crawley's  best  gown.  The 
stuff  of  which  it  was  made  had  been  paid  for  by  her  moth- 
er when  she,  with  much  difficulty,  bestowed  upon  her  daugh- 
ter her  modest  wedding  trousseau, 

Lucy  had  never  seen  Mrs.  Crawley.  These  visits  to 
Ilogglestock  were  not  frequent,  and  liad  generally  been 
made  by  Lady  Lufton  and  Mrs.  Robarts  together.  It  was 
known  that  they  were  distasteful  to  Mr.  Crawley,  who  felt 
a  savage  satisfaction  in  being  left  to  himself  It  may  al- 
most be  said  of  him  that  he  felt  angry  with  those  who  re- 
lieved him,  and  he  had  certainly  never  as  yet  forgiven  the 


238  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

Dean  of  Barchester  for  paying  his  debts.  The  dean  had 
also  given  him  liis  present  living ;  and,  consequently,  his 
old  friend  was  not  now  so  dear  to  him  as  when  in  old  days 
he  would  come  down  to  that  farm-house  almost  as  penni- 
less as  the  curate  himself.  Then  they  would  walk  together 
for  hours  along  the  rock-bound  shore,  listening  to  the  waves, 
discussing  deep  polemical  mysteries,  sometimes  with  hot 
fury,  then  again  with  tender,  loving  charity,  but  always 
with  a  mutual  acknowledgment  of  each  other's  truth.  Now 
they  lived  comparatively  near  together,  but  no  opportuni- 
ties arose  for  such  discussions.  At  any  rate,  once  a  quar- 
ter Mr.  Crawley  was  pressed  by  his  old  friend  to  visit  him 
at  the  deanery,  and  Dr.  Arabin  had  promised  that  no  one 
else  should  be  in  the  house  if  Mr.  Crawley  objected  to  so- 
ciety. But  this  Avas  not  what  he  wanted.  The  finery  and 
grandeur  of  the  deanery,  and  the  comfort  of  that  warm, 
snug  library,  would  silence  him  at  once.  Why  did  not  Dr. 
Arabin  come  out  there  to  Hogglestock,  and  tramp  with 
him  through  the  dirty  lanes  as  they  used  to  tramp  ?  •  Then 
he  could  have  enjoyed  himself;  then  he  could  have  talked ; 
then  old  days  would  have  come  back  to  them.  But  now  ! 
"  Arabin  always  rides  on  a  sleek,  fine  horse  nowadays,"  he 
once  said  to  his  wife,  with  a  sneer.  His  poverty  had  been 
so  terrible  to  himself  that  it  was  not  in  his  heart  to  love  a 
rich  friend. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

HOGGLESTOCK   PARSONAGE. 

At  the  end  of  the  last  chapter,  we  left  Lucy  Robarts 
waiting  for  an  introduction  to  Mrs.  Crawley,  who  was  sit- 
ting with  one  baby  in  her  lap,  while  she  was  rocking  an- 
other who  lay  in  a  cradle  at  her  feet.  Mr.  Crawley,  in  the 
mean  while,  had  risen  from  his  seat  with  his  finger  between 
the  leaves  of  an  old  grammar  out  of  which  he  had  been 
teaching  his  two  elder  children.  The  whole  Crawley  fam- 
ily was  thus  before  them  when  Mrs.  Robarts  and  Lucy  en- 
tered the  sitting-room. 

"  This  is  my  sister-in-law,  Lucy,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts. 
"  Pray  don't  move  now,  Mrs.  Crawley ;  or  if  you  do,  let 
me  take  baby."  And  she  put  out  her  arms  arid  took  the 
infant  into  them,  making  him  quite  at  home  there ;  for  she 


IHE    CRAWLEY    FAMILY. 


FBAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  241 

had  work  of  this  kind  of  her  own  at  home,  which  she  by 
no  means  neglected,  though  tlie  attendance  of  nurses  was 
more  plentiful  with  her  than  at  Ilogglestock. 

Mrs.  Crawley  did  get  up,  and  told  Lucy  that  she  was 
glad  to  see  her,  and  Mr.  Crawley  came  forward,  grammar 
in  hand,  looking  humble  and  meek.  Could  we  have  looked 
into  the  innermost  spirit  of  him  and  his  life's  partner,  we 
should  liave  seen  that  mixed  with  the  pride  of  his  poverty 
there  was  some  feeUng  of  disgrace  that  he  was  poor,  but 
that  witli  her,  regarding  this  matter,  there  was  neither 
pride  nor  shame.  The  realities  of  life  had  become  so  stern 
to  her  that  the  outward  aspects  of  them  were  as  nothing. 
She  would  have  liked  a  new  gown  because  it  would  have 
been  useful,  but  it  would  have  been  nothing  to  her  if  all  the 
county  knew  that  the  one  in  which  she  went  to  church  had 
been  turned  three  times.  It  galled  him,  however,  to  think 
that  he  and  his  were  so  poorly  dressed. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  can  hardly  find  a  chair,  Miss  Robarts," 
said  Mr.  Crawley. 

"  Oh  yes,  there  is  nothing  here  but  this  young  gentle- 
man's library,"  said  Lucy,  moving  a  pile  o?  ragged,  cover- 
less  books  on  to  the  table.  "I  hope  he'll  forgive  me  for 
moving  them." 

"  They  are  not  Bob's — at  least,  not  the  most  of  them,  but 
mine,"  said  the  girl. 

" But  some  of  them  are  mine,"  said,  the  boy ;  "ain't 
they,  Grace?" 

^'And  are  you  a  great  scholar?"  asked  Lucy^ drawing 
the  child  to  her. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Grace,  with  a  sheepish  face.  "  I 
am  in  Greek  Delectus  and  the  irregular  verbs." 

"  Greek  Delectus  and  the  irregular  verbs !"  And  Lucy 
put  up  her  hands  with  astonishment. 

"  And  slie  knows  an  ode  of  Horace  all  by  heart,"  said 
Bob.  ^ 

"An  ode  of  Horace!"  said  Lucy,  still  holding  the  young 
shamefaced  female  prodigy  close  to  her  knees. 

"  It  is  all  that  I  can  give  them,"  said  Mr.  Crawley,  apolo- 
getically. "A  little  scholarship  is  the  only  fortune  that 
has  come  in  my  way,  and  I  endeavor  to  share  that  with 
my  children." 

"  I  believe  men  say  that  it  is  the  best  fortune  any  of  us 
can  have,"  said  Lucy,  thinking,  however,  in  her  own  mind, 

1j 


242  FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

that  Horace  and  the  irregular  Greek  Avords  savored  too 
rniich  of  precocious  forcing  in  a  young  lady  of  nine  years 
old.  But,  nevertheless,  Grace  was  a  pretty,  simple-looking 
girl,  and  clung  to  her  ally  closely,  and  seemed  to  like  being 
fondled.  So  that  Lucy  anxiously  wished  that  Mr.  Crawley 
could  be  got  rid  of  and  the  presents  produced. 

"I  hope  you  have  left  Mr.  Robarts  quite  well,"  said  Mr. 
Crawley,  with  a  stiff,  ceremonial  voice,  differing  very  much 
from  that  in  which  he  had  so  energetically  addressed  his 
brother  clergyman  when  they  were  alone  together  in  the 
study  at  Framley. 

"  He  is  quite  well,  thank  you.  I  suppose  you  have  heard 
of  his  good  fortune  ?" 

"Yes,  I  have  heard  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Crawley,  gravely. 
"  I  hope  that  his  promotion  may  tend  in  every  way  to  his 
advantage  here  and  hereafter." 

It  seemed,  however,  to  be  manifest,  from  the  manner  in 
Avhich  he  expressed  his  kind  wishes,  that  his  hopes  and  ex- 
pectations did  not  go  hand  in  hand  together. 

"  By-the-by,  he  desired  us  to  say  that  he  will  call  here  to- 
morrow^— at  about  eleven,  didn't  he  say,  Fanny  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  he  wishes  to  see  you  about  some  parish  business, 
I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts,  looking  up  for  a  moment  from 
the  anxious  discussion  in  which  she  was  already  engaged 
with  Mrs.  Crawley  on  nursery  matters. 

"  Pray  tell  him,"  said  Mr.  Crawley,  "  that  I  shall  be  hap- 
py to  see  him ;  though,  perhaps,  now  that  new  duties  have 
been  thrown  upon  him,  it  will  be  better  that  I  should  visit 
him  at  Framley." 

"  His  new  duties  do  not  disturb  him  much  as  yet,"  said 
Lucy.   "  And  his  riding  over  here  will  be  no  trouble  to  him." 

"Yes;  there  he  has  the  advantage  over  me.  I  unfor- 
tunately have  no  horse." 

And  then  Lucy  began  petting  the  little  boy,  and  by  de- 
grees slipped  a  small  bag  of  gingerbread  nuts  out  of  her 
muff  into  his  hands.  She  had  not  tbe  patience  necessary 
for  waiting,  as  had  her  sister-in-law. 

The  boy  took  the  bag,  peeped  into  it,  and  theii  looked 
up  into  her  face, 

"  What  is  that.  Bob  ?"  said  Mr.  Crawley. 

"Gingerbread,"  faltered  Bobby,  feeling  that 'a  sin  had 
been  committed,  though  probably  feeling  also  that  he  him- 
self could  hardly  as  yet  be  accounted  as  deeply  guilty. 


FBAMLEY   PAKSONAGE.  243 

"  Miss  Robarts,"  said  tlie  father,  "  we  are  very  much 
obliged  to  you ;  but  our  children  are  hardly  used  to  such 
things." 

"  i  am  a  lady  Avith  a  weak  mind,  Mr.  Crawley,  and  al- 
ways carry  things  of  this  sort  about  with  me  when  I  go  to 
visit  children ;  so  you  must  forgive  me,  and  allow  your 
little  boy  to  accept  them." 

"  Oh,  certainly.  Bob,  my  child,  give  the  bag  to  your 
mamma,  and  she  will  let  you  and  Grace  have  them  one  at 
a  time."  And  then  the  bag,  in  a  solemn  manner,  was  car- 
ried over  to  their  mother,  who,  taking  it  from  her  son's 
hands,  laid  it  high  on  a  book-shelf. 

"  And  not  one  now  ?"  said  Lucy  Robarts,  very  piteous- 
ly.  "  Don't  be  so  hard,  Mr.  Crawley — not  upon  them,  but 
upon  me.  May  I  not  learn  whether  they  are  good  of  their 
kind?" 

"I  am  sure  they  are  very  good;  but  I  think  their  mam- 
ma will  prefer  their  being  put  by  for  the  present." 

This  was  very  discouraging  to  Lucy.  If  one  small  bag 
of  gingerbread-nuts  created  so  great  a  difficulty,  how  was 
!>he  to  dispose  of  the  pot  of  guava  jelly  and  box  of  bonbons 
which  were  still  in  her  muff,  or  how  distribute  the  packet 
of  oranges  with  which  the  pony  carriage  was  laden  ?  And 
there  was  jelly  for  the  sick  child,  and  chicken  broth,  which 
Avas,  indeed,  another  jelly ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth  openly, 
there  was  also  a  joint  of  fresh  pork,  and  a  basket  of  eggs 
from  the  Framley  Parsonage  farm-yard,  which  Mrs.  Robarts 
was  to  introduce,  should  she  find  herself  capable  of  doing 
so,  but  which  would  certainly  be  cast  out  with  utter  scorn 
by  Mr.  Crawley  if  tendered  in  his  immediate  presence. 
There  had  also  been  a  suggestion  as  to  adding  two  or  three 
bottles  of  port ;  but  the  courage  of  the  ladies  had  failed 
them  on  that  head,  and  the  wine  was  not  now  added  to 
their  difficulties. 

Lucy  found  it  very  difficult  to  keep  up  a  conversation 
with  Mr.  Crawley — the  more  so,  as  Mrs.  Robarts  and  Mrs. 
Crawley  presently  withdrew  into  a  bedroom,  taking  the  two 
younger  children  with  them.  "How  unlucky,"  thought 
Lucy,  "  that  she  has  not  got  my  muff  with  her !"  But  the 
muff  lay  in  her  lap,  ponderous  with  its  rich  inclosures. 

"  I  suppose  you  will  live  in  Barchester  for  a  portion  of 
the  year  now,"  said  Mr.  Crawley. 

"  I  really  do  not  know  as  yet ;  Mark  talks  of  taking  lodg- 
inors  for  his  first  month's  residence." 


244  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

"  But  lie  will  have  the  house,  will  he  not  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"I  fear  he  will  find  it  interfere  with  his  own  parish — 
with  his  general  utility  there :  the  schools,  for  instance." 

"  Mark  thinks  that,  as  he  is  so  near,  he  need  not  be  much 
absent  from  Framley,  even  during  his  residence.  And  then 
Lady  Lufton  is  so  good  about  the  schools." 

"Ah!  yes;  but  Lady  Lufton  is  not  a  clergyman,  Miss 
Robarts." 

It  was  on  Lucy's  tongue  to  say  that  her  ladyship  was 
pretty  nearly  as  bad,  but  she  stopped  herself. 

At  this  moment  Providence  sent  great  relief  to  Miss 
Robarts  in  the  shape  of  Mrs.  Crawley's  red-armed  maid-of- 
all-work,  who,  Avalking  up  to  her  master,  whispered  into 
his  ear  that  he  was  wanted.  It  was  the  time  of  day  at 
which  liis  attendance  was  always  required  in  his  parish 
school;  and  that  attendance  being  so  punctually  given, 
those  Avho  wanted  him  looked  for  him  there  at  this  hour, 
and  if  he  were  absent,  did  not  scruple  to  send  for  him. 

"  Miss  Robarts,  I  am  afraid  you  must  excuse  me,"  said 
he,  getting  up  and  taking  his  hat  and  stick.  Lucy  begged 
that  she  might  not  be  at  all  in  the  way,  and  already  began 
to  speculate  how  she  might  best  unload  her  treasures. 
"  Will  you  make  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Robarts,  and  say 
that  I  am  sorry  to  miss  the  pleasure  of  wishing  her  good- 
by  ?  But  I  shall  probably  see  her  as  she  passes  the  school- 
house."  And  then,  stick  in  hand,  he  walked  forth,  and 
Lucy  fancied  that  Bobby's  eyes  immediately  rested  on  the 
bag  of  gingerbread-nuts. 

"  Bob,"  said  she,  almost  in  a  w^hisper, "  do  you  like  sugar- 
plums?" 

"  Very  much  indeed,"  said  Bob,  with  exceeding  gravity, 
and  with  his  eye  upon  the  window  to  see  whether  his  fa- 
ther had  passed. 

"Then  come  here,"  said  Lucy.  But  as  she  spoke  the 
door  again  opened,  and  Mr.  Crawley  reappeared.  "  I  have 
left  a  book  behind  me,"  he  said ;  and,  coming  back  through 
the  room,  he  took  up  the  well-worn  prayer-book  which  ac- 
companied him  in  all  his  wanderings  through  the  parish. 
Bobby,  when  he  saw  his  father,  had  retreated  a  few  steps 
back,  as  also  did  Grace,  who,  to  confess  the  truth,  had  been 
attracted  by  the  sound  of  sugar-plums,  in  spite  of  the  irreg- 
ular verbs.     And  Lucy  withdrew  her  hand  from  her  mulf, 


FBAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  245 

and  looked  guilty.  Was  she  not  deceiving  the  good  man 
— nay,  teaching  liis  own  children  to  deceive  him  ?  But 
there  are  men  made  of  such  stuff  that  an  angel  could  hard- 
ly live  with  them  without  some  deceit. 

"  Papa's  gone  now,"  whispered  Bobby ;  "  I  saw  hini  turn 
round  the  corner."  He,  at  any  rate,  had  learned  his  les- 
son, as  it  was  natural  that  he  should  do. 

Some  one  else,  also,  had  learned  that  paj^a  was  gone ;  for 
while  Bob  and  Grace  were  still  counting  the  big  lumps  of 
sugar-candy,  each  employed  the  while  for  inward  solace 
wdth  an  inch  of  barley-sugar,  the  front  door  opened,  and  a 
big  basket,  and  a  bundle  done  up  in  a  kitchen-cloth,  made 
surrei^titious  entrance  into  the  house,  and  were  quickly  un- 
packed by  Mrs.  Robarts  herself  on  the  table  in  Mrs.  Craw- 
ley's bedroom. 

"  I  did  venture  to  bring  them,"  said  Fanny,  with  a  look 
of  shame,  "  for  I  know  how  a  sick  child  occupies  the  whole 
house." 

"  Ah!  my  friend,"  said  Mrs.CraWley,  taking  hold  of  Mrs. 
Hobarts'  arm  and  looking  into  her  face,  "  that  sort  of  shame 
is  over  w^ith  me.  GodJhas  tried  us  with  want,  and  for  my 
children's  sake  I  am  glad  of  such  relief." 

"  But  will  he  be  angry  ?" 

"  I  will  manage  it.  Dear  Mrs.  Robarts,  you  must  not  be 
surprised  at  him.  His  lot  is  sometimes  very  hard  to  bear: 
such  things  are  so  much  worse  for  a  man  than  for  a 
woman." 

Fanny  was  not  quite  prepared  to  admit  this  in  lier  own 
heart,  but  she  made  no  reply  on  that  head.  "I  am  sure  I 
hope  we  may  be  able  to  be  of  use  to  you,"  she  said,  "if 
you  will  only  look  upon  me  as  an  old  friend,  and  write  to 
me  if  you  want  me.  I  hesitate  to  come  frequently  for  fear 
that  I  should  offend  him." 

And  then,  by  degrees,  there  ^vas  confidence  between 
them,  and  the  poverty-stricken  helpmate  of  the  perpetual 
curate  was  able  to  speak  of  the  weight  of  her  burden  to  the 
well-to-do  young  wife  of  the  Barchester  prebendary.  "  It 
was  hard,"  the  former  said,  "to  feel  herself  so  different 
from  the  wives  of  other  clergymen  around  her — to  know 
that  they  lived  softly,  while  she,  with  all  the  work  of  her 
hands,  and  unceasing  struggle  of  her  energies,  could  hardly 
manage  to  place  wholesome  food  before  her  husband  and 
children.     It  was  a  terrible  thing  —  a  grievous  thing  to 


24 G  PRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

tliink  of,  that  all  the  work  of  her  mind  should  he  given  up 
to  such  subjects  as  these.  But,  nevertheless,  she  could 
bear  it,"  she  said,  "  as  long  as  he  would  carry  himself  like 
a  man,  and  face  his  lot  boldly  before  the  world."  And 
then  she  told  how  he  had  been  better  there  at  Hogglestock 
than  in  their  former  residence  down  in  Cornwall,  and  in 
warm  language  she  expressed  her  thanks  to  the  friend  who 
had  done  so  much  for  them. 

"  Mrs.  Arabin  told  me  that  she  was  so  anxious  you  should 
go  to  them,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts. 

"  Ah !  yes ;  but  that,  I  fear,  is  impossible.  The  children, 
you  know,  Mrs.  Robarts." 

"  I  would  take  care  of  two  of  them  for  you." 

"  Oh  no,  I  could  not  punish  you  for  your  goodness  in 
that  way.  But  he  would  not  go.  He  could  go  and  leave 
me  at  home.  Sometimes  I  have  thought  that  it  might  be 
so,  and  I  have  done  all  in  my  power  to  persuade  him.  I 
have  told  him  that  if  he  could  mix  once  more  with  the 
world — with  the  clerical  world,  you  know,  that  he  would 
be  better  fitted  for  the  performance  of  his  own  duties. 
But  he  answers  me  angrily  that  it. is  impossible — that  his 
coat  is  not  fit  for  the  dean's  table,"  and  Mrs.  Crawley  al- 
most blushed  as  she  spoke  of  such  a  reason. 

"  What !  Avith  an  old  friend  like  Dr.  Arabin  ?  Surely 
that  must  be  nonsense." 

"  I  know  that  it  is.  The  dean  would  be  glad  to  see  him 
with  any  coat.  But  the  fact  is  that  he  can  not  bear  to 
enter  the  house  of  a  rich  man  unless  his  duty  calls  him 
there." 

"  But  surely  that  is  a  mistake  ?" 

"  It  is  a  mistake.  But  what  can  I  do  ?  I  fear  that  he 
regards  the  rich  as  his  enemies.  He  is  pining  for  the  solace 
of  some  friend  to  whom  he  could  talk — for  some  equal, 
with  a  mind  educated  like  his  own,  to  whose  thoughts  he 
could  listen,  and  to  whom  he  could  speak  his  own  thoughts. 
But  such  a  friend  must  be  equal,  not  only  in  mind,  but  in 
purse ;  and  where  can  he  ever  find  such  a  man  as  that  ?" 

"  But  you  may  get  better  preferment." 

"Ah!  no;  and  if  he  did,  we  are  hardly  fit  for  it  now. 
If  I  could  think  that  I  could  educate  my  children — if  I 
could  only  do  something  for  my  poor  C-race — " 

In  answer  to  this  Mrs.  Robarts  said  a  word  or  two,  but 
not  much.    She  resolved,  however,  that  if  she  could  get  her 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  247 

husband's  leave,  something  should  be  done  for  Grace. 
Would  it  not  be  a  good  work  ?  and  was  it  not  incumbent 
on  her  to  make  some  kindly  use  of  all  the  goods  with  which 
Providence  had  blessed  herself? 

And  then  they  went  back  to  the  sitting-room,  each  again 
with  a  young  child  m  her  arms,  Mrs.  Crawley  having  stowed 
away  in  the  kitchen  the  chicken  broth,  and  the  leg  of  pork, 
and  the  supply  of  eggs.  Lucy  had  been  engaged  the  while 
with  the  children ;  and  when  the  two  married  ladies  en- 
tered, they  found  that  a  shop  had  been  opened  at  which 
all  manner  of  luxuries  were  being  readily  sold  and  pur- 
chased at  marvelously  easy  prices ;  the  guava  jelly  was 
there,  and  the  oranges,  and  the  sugar-plums,  red,  and  yel- 
low, and  striped ;  and,  moreover,  the  gingerbread  had  been 
taken  down  in  the  audacity  of  their  commercial  specula- 
tions, and  the  nuts  were  spread  out  upon  a  board,  behind 
which  Lucy  stood  as  shop-girl,  disposing  of  them  for  kisses. 

"  Mamma,  mamma,"  said  Bobby,  running  up  to  his  moth- 
er, "  you  must  buy  something  of  her,"  and  he  pointed  with 
his  fingers  at  the  shop-girl.  "  You  must  give  her  two  kisses 
for  that  heap  of  barley-sugar."  Looking  at  Bobby's  mouth 
at  the  time,  one  would  have  said  that  his  kisses  might  be 
dispensed  with. 

When  they  were  again  in  the  jDony  carriage,  behind  the 
impatient  Puck,  and  were  well  away  from  the  door,  Fanny 
was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  How  very  different  those  two  are,"  she  said— »"  difier- 
cnt  in  their  minds  and  in  their  spirit." 

"  But  how  much  higher  toned  is  her  mind  than  his ! 
How  weak  he  is  in  many  things,  and  how  strong  she  is  in 
every  thing!  How  false  is  his  pride,  and  how  false  his 
shame !" 

"  But  we  must  remember  what  he  has  to  bear.  It  is  not 
every  one  that  can  endure  such  a  life  as  his  without  false 
pride  and  false  shame." 

"  But  she  has  neither,"  said  Lucy. 

"Because  you  have  one  hero  in  a  family,  does  that  give 
you  a  right  to  expect  another  ?"  said  Mrs.  Robarts.  "  Of 
all  my  own  acquaintance,  Mrs.  Crawley,  I  think,  comes 
nearest  to  heroism." 

And  then  they  passed  by  the  Hogglestock  school,  and 
Mr.  Crawley,  when  he  heard  the  noise  of  the  wheels,  came 
out. 


248  FEAMLEY   TARSONAGE. 

"  You  have  been  very  kind,"  said  he,  "  to  remain  so  long 
with  my  poor  Avife." 

"We  had  a  great  many  things  to  talk  about  after  you 
went." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  for  she  does  not  often  see  a 
friend  nowadays.  Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  tell  Mr. 
Robarts  that  I  shall  be  here  at  the  school  at  eleven  o'clock 
to-morrow  ?" 

And  then  he  bowed,  taking  oflf  his  hat  to  them,  and  they 
drove  on. 

"If  he  really  does  care  about  her  comfort,  I  shall  not 
think  so  badly  of  him,"  said  Lucy. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE   TEIUMPII    OP   THE    GIANTS. 

And  now,  about  the  end  of  April,  news  arrived  almost 
simultaneously  in  all  quarters  of  the  habitable  globe  that 
was  terrible  in  its  import  to  one  of  the  chief  persons  of  our 
history — some  may  think  to  the  chief  person  in  it.  All 
high  parliamentary  people  will  doubtless  so  think,  and  the 
wives  and  daughters  of  such.  The  Titans  warring  against 
the  gods  had  been  for  a  while  successful.  Typhceus  and 
Mimas,  Porphyrion  and  Rhoecus,  the  giant  brood  of  old, 
steeped  in  ignorance  and  Avedded  to  corruption,  had  scaled 
the  heiglits  of  Olympus,  assisted  by  that  audacious  flinger 
of  deadly  ponderous  missiles,  Avho  stands  eyer  ready  armed 
Avith  his  terrific  sling — Supplehouse,  the  Enceladus  of  the 
press.  And  in  this  universal  cataclasm  of  the  starry  coim- 
cils,  Avhat  could  a  poor  Diana  do — Diana  of  the  Petty  Bag, 
but  abandon  her  pride  of  place  to  some  rude  Orion  ?  In 
other  Avords,  the  ministry  had  been  comj^elled  to  resign, 
and  Avith  them  Mr.  Harold  Smith. 

"And  so  poor  Harold  is  out  before  he  has  Avell  tasted 
the  sweets  of  office,"  said  Sowerby,  Avriting  to  his  friend 
the  parson ;  "  and,  as  far  as  I  knoAv,  the  only  piece  of  Church 
patronage  which  has  fallen  in  the  Avay  of  the  ministry  since 
he  joined  it  has  made  its  Avay  down  to  Framley — to  my 
great  joy  and  contentment."  But  it  hardly  tended  to 
Mark's  joy  and  contentment  on  the  same  subject  that  he 
should  be  so  often  reminded  of  the  benefit  conferred  upon 
him. 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  249 

Terrible  was  this  break-down  of  the  ministry,  and  espe- 
cially to  Harold  Smith,  who  to  the  last  had  had  confidence 
in  that  theory  of  new  blood.  He  could  hardly  believe  that 
a  large  majority  of  the  House  should  vote  against  a  gov- 
ernment which  he  had  only  just  joined.  "If  we  are  to  go 
on  in  this  way,"  he  said  to  his  young  friend  Green  Walker, 
*'the  queen's  government  can  not  be  carried  on."  That 
alleged  difficulty  as  to  carrying  on  the  queen's  government 
has  been  frequently  mooted  in  late  years  since  a  certain 
great  man  first  introduced  the  idea.  Nevertheless,  the 
queen's  government  is  carried  on,  and  the  propensity  and 
aptitude  of  men  for  this  work  seems  to  be  not  at  all  on  the 
decrease.  If  we  have  but  few  young  statesmen,  it  is  be- 
cause the  old  stagers  are  so  fond  of  the  rattle  of  their  liarness.    ' 

"  I  really  do  not  see  how  the  queen's  government  is  to 
be  carried  on,"  said  Harold  Smith  to  Green  Walker,  stand- 
ing in  a  corner  of  one  of  the  lobbies  of  the  House  of  Com-- 
mons  on  the  first  of  those  days  of  awful  interest,  in  which 
the  queen  was  sending  for  one  crack  statesman  after  an- 
other, and  some  anxious  men  w^ere  beginning  to  doubt 
whether  or  no  we  should,  in  truth,  be  able  to  obtain  the 
blessing  of  another  cabinet.  The  gods  had  all  vanished 
from  their  places.  Would  the  giants  be  good  enough  to 
do  any  thing  for  us  or  no  ?  There  were  men  who  seemed 
to  think  that  the  giants  would  refuse  to  do  any  thing  for 
us.  "The  House  will  now  be  adjourned  over  till  Monday, 
and  I  would  not  be  in  her  majesty's  shoes  for  something," 
said  Mr.  Harold  Smith. 

"  By  Jove !  no,"  said  Green  Walker,  who  in  these  days 
was  a  stanch  Harold  Smithian,  having  felt  a  pride  in  join- 
ing himself  on  as  a  substantial  support  to  a  cabinet  minis- 
ter. Had  he  contented  himself  with  being  merely  a  Brock- 
ite,  he  would  have  counted  as  nobody.  "  By  Jove !  ,no," 
and  Green  Walker  opened  his  eyes  and  shook  his  head  as 
lie  thought  of  the  perilous  condition  in  whicT*her  majesty 

must  be  placed.     "  I  happen  to  know  that  Lord won't 

join  them  unless  he  has  the  Foreign  Office,"  and  he  men- 
tioned some  hundred-handed  Gyas  supposed  to  be  of  the 
utmost  importance  to  the  counsels  of  the  Titans. 

"And  that,  of  course,  is  impossible.  I  don't  see  what 
on  earth  they  are  to  do.  There's  Sidonia;  they  do  say 
that  he's  making  some  difficulty  now."  Now  Sidonia  was 
another  giant,  supposed  to  be  very  powerful. 

J.  ?. 


250  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

"  We  all  know  that  the  queen  won't  see  him,"  said  Green 
Walker,  who,  being  a  member  of  Parliament  for  the  Crewe 
Junction,  and  nephew  to  Lady  Hartletop,  of  course  had 
perfectly  correct  means  of  ascertaining  what  the  queen 
would  do  and  what  she  would  not. 

"  The  fact  is,"  said  Harold  Smith,  recurring  again  to  his 
own  situation  as  an  ejected  god,  "that  the  House  does  not 
in  the  least  understand  what  it  is  about — doesn't  know 
Avhat  it  wants.  The  question  I  should  like  to  ask  them  is 
this :  Do  they  intend  that  the  queen  shall  have  a  govern- 
ment, or  do  they  not  ?  Are  they  prepared  to  support  such 
men  as  Sidonia  and  Lord  De  Terrier  ?  If  so,  I  am  their 
obedient  humble  servant ;  but  I  shall  be  very  much  sur- 
prised, that's  all."  Lord  De  Terrier  was  at  this  time  rec- 
ognized by  all  men  as  the  leader  of  the  giants. 

"  And  so  shall  I — deucedly  surprised.  They  can't  do  it, 
you  know.  There  are  the  Manchester  men.  I  ought  to 
know  something  about  them  down  in  my  country,  and  I 
say  tliey  can't  support  Lord  De  Terrier.  It  w^ouldn't  be 
natural." 

"  Natural !  Human  nature  has  come  to  an  end,  I  think," 
said  Harold  Smith,  who  could  hardly  understand  that  the 
world  should  conspire  to  throw  over  a  government  which 
he  had  joined,  and  that,  too,  before  the  world  had  waited 
to  see  how  much  he  would  do  for  it;  "the  fact  is  this, 
Walker,  we  have  no  longer  among  us  any  strong  feeling  of 
party."  ^ 

"  No,*  not  a  d — ,"  said  Green  Walker,  who  was  very  en- 
ergetic in  his  present  political  aspirations. 

"And  till  we  can  recover  that,  ^ve  shall  never  be  able  to 
have  a  government  firm-seated  and  sure-handed.  Nobody 
can  count  on  men  from  one  week  to  another.  The  very 
members  who  in  one  month  place  a  minister  in  power,  are 
the  very  first  to  vote  against  him  in  the  next."  ' 

"  We  must  put  a  stop  to  that  sort  of  thing,  otherv/ise 
yve  shall  never  do  any  good." 

"  I  don't  mean  to  deny  that  Brock  was  -wrong  with  ref- 
erence to  Lord  Brittleback.  I  think  that  he  w^as  wrong, 
and  I  said  so  all  through.  But,  heavens  on  earth — !"  and, 
instead  of  completing  his  speech,  Harold  Smith  turned 
away  his  head,  and  struck  his  hands  together  in  token  of 
his  astonishment  at  the  fatuity  of  the  age.  What  he  prob- 
ably meant  to  express  was  this:  that  if  such  a  good  deed 


FRAMLEY   PAKSONAGE.  251 

as  that  late  appointment  made  at  the  Petty  Bag  Office 
were  not  held  sufficient  to  atone  for  that  other  evil  deed 
to  which  he  had  alluded,  there  would  be  an  end  of  all  jus- 
tice in  sublunary  matters.  Was  no  offense  to  be  forgiven, 
even  when  so  great  virtue  had  been  displayed  ? 

"  I  attribute  it  all  to  Supplehouse,"  gaid  Green  Walker, 
trying  to  console  his  friend. 

*'  Yes,"  said  Harold  Smith,  now  verging  on  the  bounds 
of  parliamentary  eloquence,  although  he  still  spoke  with 
bated  breath,  and  to  one  solitary  hearer,  "  yes,  we  are  be- 
coming the  slaves  of  a  mercenary  and  irresponsible  press 
— of  one  single  newspaper.  There  is  a  man  endowed  with 
no  great  talent,  enjoying  no  public  confidence,  untrusted  as 
a  politician,  and  unheard  of  even  as  a  writer  by  the  world 
at  large,  and  yet,  because  he  is  on  the  staff  of  the  Jupiter^ 
he  is  able  to  overturn  the  government  and  throw  the  whole 
country  into  dismay.  It  is  astonishing  to  me  that  a  man 
like  Lord  Brock  should  allow  himself  to  be  so  timid." 
And,  nevertheless,  it  was  not  yet  a  month  since  Harold 
Smith  had  been  counseling  with  Supplehouse  how  a  series 
of  strong  articles  in  the  Jupiter^  together  with  the  expect- 
ed support  of  the  Manchester  men,  might  probably  be  ef- 
fective in  Imrling  the  minister  from  his  seat.  But  at  that 
time  the  minister  had  not  revigorated  himself  with  young 
blood.  "  How  the  queen's  government  is  to  be  carried  on, 
that  is  the  question  now,"  Harold  Smith  repeated — a  diffi- 
culty which  had  not  caused  him  much  dismay  at  that  pe- 
riod, about  a  mouth  since,  to  which  we  Jiave  alluded. 

At  this  moment  Sowerby  and  Supplehouse  together  join- 
ed them,  having  come  out  of  the  House,  in  which  some  un- 
importMit  business  had  been  completed  after  the  ministers' 
notice  of  adjournment. 

"  Well,  Harold,"  said  Sowerby,  "  what  do  you  say  to 
your  governor's  statement  ?" 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  it,"  said  Harold  Smith,  look- 
ing up  very  solemnly  from  under  the  penthouse  of  his  hat, 
and  perhaps  rather  savagely.  Sowerby  had  supported  the 
government  at  the  late  crisis,  but  why  was  he  now  seen 
herding  with  such  a  one  as  Supplehouse  ? 

"He  did  it  pretty  well,  I  think,"  said  Sowerby. 

"Very  well  indeed,"  said  Supplehouse,  "as  he  always 
does  those  sort  of  things.  No  man  makes  so  good  an  ex- 
planation of  circumstances,  or  comes  out  with  so  telling  a 


252  FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

personal  statement.  He  ought  to  keep  himself  in  reserve 
for  those  sort  of  things." 

"  And  who,  in  the  mean  time,  is  to  carry  on  the  queen's 
government?"  said  Harold  Smith,  looking  very  stern. 

"That  should  be  left  to  men  of  lesser  mark,"  said  he  of 
the  Jupiter.  "  The  points  as  to  which  one  really  listens  to 
a  minister,  the  subjects  about  which  men  really  care,  are 
always  personal.  How  many  of  us  are  truly  interested  as 
to  the  best  mode  of  governing  India?  but  in  a  question 
touching  the  character  of  a  prime  minister,  wc  all  muster 
together  like  bees  round  a  sounding  cymbal." 

"That  arises  from  envy,  malice,  and  all  uncliaritable- 
ness,"  said  Harold  Smith. 

"  Yes ;  and  from  picking  and  stealing,  evil  speaking,  ly- 
ing, and  slandering,"  said  Mr.  Sowerby. 

"We  are  so  prone  to  desire  and  covet  other  men's 
places,"  said  Supplehouse. 

"Some  men  are  so,"  said  Sowerby;  "but  it  is  the  evil 
speaking,  lying,  and  slandering  which  does  the  mischief. 
Is  it  not,  Harold  ?" 

"  And,  in  the  mean  time,  how  is  the  queen's  government 
to  be  carried. on?"  said  Mr.  Green  Walker. 

On  the  following  morning  it  w^as  known  that  Lord  De 
Terrier  was  with  the  queen  at  Buckingham  Palace,  and  at 
about  twelve  a  list  of  tlie  new  ministry  was  published, 
Avhich  must  have  been  in  the  highest  degree  satisfactory  to 
the  whole  brood  of  giants.  Every  son  of  Tellus  was  in- 
cluded in  it,  as  were  also  very  many  of  the  daughters.  But 
then,  late  in  the  afternoon.  Lord  Brock  was  again  summon- 
ed to  the  palace,  and  it  was  thought  in  the  West  End 
among  the  clubs  that  the  gods  had  again  a  chance.  "If 
only,"  said  the  Purist^  an  evening  paper  which  wms  sup- 
posed to  be  very  much  in  the  interest  of  Mr.  Harold  Smith, 
"  if  only  Lord  Brock  can  have  the  wisdom  to  place  the 
right  men  in  the  right  places.  It  was  only  the  other  day 
that  he  introduced  Mr.  Smith  into  his  government.  That 
this  was  a  step  in  the  right  direction  every  one  has  ac- 
knowledged, though,  unfortunately,  it  was  made  too  late  to 
prevent  the  disturbance  which  has  since  occurred.  It  now 
appears  probable  that  his  lordship  will  again  have  an  op- 
portunity of  selecting  a  Hst  of  statesmen  with  the  view  of 
carrying  on  the  queen's  government,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped 
that  such  men  as  Mr.  Smith  may  be  placed  in  situations 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  253 

in  which  their  talents,  industry,  and  acknowledged  official 
aptitudes  may  be  of  permanent  service  to  the  country." 

Supplehouse,  when  he  read  this  at  the  club  with  Mr. 
Sowerby  at  his  elbow,  declared  that  the  style  was  too  well 
marked  to  leave  any  doubt  as  to  the  author ;  but  we  our- 
selves are  not  inclined  to  think  that  Mr.  Harold  Smith 
wrote  the  article  himself,  although  it  may  be  probable  that 
he  saw  it  in  type. 

But  the  Jupiter  the  next  morning  settled  the  whole  ques- 
tion, and  made  it  known  to  the  world  that,  in  sjiite  of  all 
the  sendings  and  resendings.  Lord  Brock  and  the  gods 
Avere  permanently  out,  and  Lord  De  Terrier  and  the  giants 
permanently  in.  That  fractious  giant  ^vho  would  only  go 
to  the  Foreign  Office  had,  in  fact,  gone  to  some  sphere  of 
much  less  important  duty,  and  Sidonia,  in  spite  of  the  whis- 
pered dislike  of  an  illustrious  personage,  opened  the  cam- 
paign with  all  the  full  appanages  of  a  giant  of  the  highest 
standing.  "  We  hope,"  said  the  Jupiter^  "  that  Lord  Brock 
may  not  yet  be  too  old  to  take  a  lesson.  If  so,  the  present 
decision  of  the  House  of  Commons,  and,  we  may  say,  of 
the  country  also,  may  teach  him  not  to  put  his  trust  in  such 
princes  as  Lord  Brittleback,  or  such  broken  reeds  as  Mr. 
Harold  Smith."  Now  this  parting  blow  we  always  thought 
to  be  exceedingly  unkind,  and  altogether  unnecessary  on  tho 
part  of  Mr.  Supplehouse. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Harold,  when  she  first  met  Mis? 
Dunstable  after  the  catastrophe  was  known,  "  how  am  1 
possibly  to  endure  this  degradation  ?"  And  she  put  her 
deeply-laced  handkerchief  up  to  her  eyes. 

"  Christian  resignation,"  suggested  Miss  Dunstable. 

"  Fiddlestick !"  said  Mrs.  Harold  Smith.  "  You  miUion- 
naires  always  talk  of  Christian  resignation,  because  you 
never  are  called  on  to  resign  any  thing.  If  I  had  any 
Christian  resignation,  I  shouldn't  have  cared  for  such  pomps 
and  vanities.  Think  of  it,  my  dear — a  cabinet  minister's 
wife  for  only  three  weeks!" 

"How  does  poor  Mr. Smith  endure  it ?" 

"  What  ?  Harold  ?  He  only  lives  on  the  hope  of  venge- 
ance. When  he  has  put  an  end  to  Mr.  Supplehouse, "he 
will  be  content  to  die." 

And  then  there  were  farther  explanations  in  both  houses 
of  Parliament  which  Avei*e  altogether  satisfactory.  The 
high-bred,  courteous  giants  assured  the  gods  that  they  had 


254  FKAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

piled  Pelion  on  Ossa,  and  thus  climbed  up  into  power,  very 
much  in  opposition  to  their  own  good  wills ;  for  they,  the 
giants  themselves,  preferred  the  sweets  of  dignified  retire- 
ment. But  the  voice  of  the  people  had  been  too  strong  for 
them ;  the  effort  had  been  made,  not  by  themselves,  but  by 
others,  who  were  determined  that  the  giants  should  be  at 
the  head  of  affairs.  Indeed,  the  spirit  of  the  times  was  so 
clearly  in  favor  of  giants  that  there  had  been  no  alterna- 
tive. So  said  Briareus  to  the  Lords,  and  Orion  to  the  Com- 
mons. And  then  the  gods  were  absolutely  happy  in  ced- 
ing their  places ;  and  so  far  were  they  from  any  unceles- 
tial  envy  or  malice  which  might  not  be  divine,  that  they 
promised  to  give  the  giants  all  the  assistance  in  their  pow- 
er m  carrying  on  the  work  of  government ;  upon  which  the 
giants  declared  how  deej^ly  indebted  they  would  be  for 
such  valuable  counsel  and  friendly  assistance.  All  this 
was  delightful  in  the  extreme ;  but  not  the  less  did  ordi- 
nary men  seem  to  expect  that  the  usual  battle  Avould  go  on 
in  the  old  customary  way.  It  is  easy*  to  love  one's  enemy 
when  one  is  making  fine  speeches,  but  so  difficult  to  do  so 
in  the  actual  every-day  Avork  of  life. 

But  there  was  and  always  has  been  this  peculiar  good 
point  about  the  giants,  that  they  are  never  too  proud  to 
follow  in  the  footsteps  of  the  gods.  If  the  gods,  deliber- 
ating painfully  together,  have  elaborated  any  skillful  proj- 
ect, the  giants  are  always  -willing  to  adopt  it  as  their  own, 
not  treating  the  bantling  as  a  foster-child,  but  praising  it 
and  pushing  it  so  that  men  should  regard  it  as  the  undoubt- 
ed offspring  of  their  owai  brains.  Now  just  at  this  time 
there  had  been  a  plan  much  thought  of  for  increasing  the 
number  of  the  bishops.  Good  active  bishops  were  very 
desirable,  and  there  w^as  a  strong  feeling  among  certain  ex- 
cellent Churchmen  that  there  could  hardly  be  too  many  of 
them.  Lord  Brock  had  his  measure  cut  and  dry.  There 
should  be  a  Bishop  of  Westminster  to  share  the  Herculean 
toils  of  the  metropolitan  prelate,  and  another  up  in  the 
north  to  Christianize  the  mining  interests  and  wash  white 
the  blackamoors  of  Newcastle  —  Bishop  of  Beverley  he 
should  be  called.  But,  in  opposition  to  this,  the  giants,  it 
w^as  known,  had  intended  to  put  forth  the  whole  measure 
of  their  brute  force.  More  curates,  they  said,  were  w^ant- 
ing,  and  district  incumbents,  not  more  bishops  rolling  in 
carriages.     That  bishops  should  roll  in  carriages  w^as  very 


FEAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  255 

good,  but  of  such  blessings  the  English  world  for  the  pres- 
ent had  enough.  And  therefore  Lord  Brock  and  the  gods 
had  had  much  fear  as  to  their  little  project.  » 

But  now,  immediately  on  the  accession  of  the  giants,  it 
was  known  that  the  bishop  bill  was  to  be  gone  on  with  im- 
mediately. Some  small  changes  would  be  eftected,  so  that 
the  bill  should  be  gigantic  rather  than  divine ;  but  the  re- 
sult would  be  altogether  the  same.  It  must,  however,  be 
admitted  that  bishops  appointed  by  ourselves  maybe  very 
good  things,  whereas  those  appointed  by  our  adversaries 
will  be  any  thing  but  good.  And,  no  doubt,  this  feeling 
went  a  long  way  with  the  giants.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the 
new  bishop  bill  was  to  be  their  first  work  of  government, 
and  it  was  to  be  brought  forward  and  carried,  and  the  new 
prelates  selected  and  put  into  their  chairs  all  at  once — be- 
fore the  grouse  should  begin  to  crow,  and  put  an  end  to 
the  doings  of  gods  as  well  as  giants. 

Among  other  minor  effects  arising  from  this  decision 
was  the  following,  that  Archdeacon  and  Mrs.  Grantly  re- 
turned to  London,  and  again  took  the  lodgings  in  which 
they  had  before  been  staying.  On  various  occasions,  also, 
during  the  first  week  of  this  second  sojourn.  Dr.  Grantly 
might  be  seen  entering  the  ofiicial  chambers  of  the  First 
Lord  of  the  Treasury.  Much  counsel  was  necessary  among 
high  churchmen  of  great  repute  before  any  :fixed  resolution 
could  wisely  be  made  in  such  a  matter  as  this,  and  few 
churchmen  stood  in  higher  repute  than  the  Archdeacon 
of  Barchester.  And  then  it  began  to  be  rumored  in  the 
world  that  the  minister  had  disposed  at  any  rate  of  the  see 
of  Westminster. 

This  present  time  was  a  very  nervous  one  for  Mrs.  Grant- 
ly. What  might  be  the  aspirations  of  the  archdeacon  him- 
self we  will  not  stop  to  inquire.  It  may  be  that  time  and 
experience  had  taught  him  the  futility  of  earthly  honors, 
and  made  him  content  with  the  comfortable  opulence  of 
his  iBarsetshire  rectory.  But  there  is  no  theory  of  Church 
discipline  which  makes  it  necessary  that  a  clergyman's 
wife  should  have  an  objection  to  a  bishopric.  The  arch- 
deacon probably  was  only  anxious  to  give  a  disinterested 
aid  to  the  minister ;  but  Mrs.  Grantly  did  long  to  sit  in 
high  places,  and  be,  at  any  rate,  equal  to  Mrs.  Proudie.  It 
was  for  her  children,  she  said  to  herself,  that  she  was  thus 
anxious — that  they  should  have  a  good  position  before  the 


250  ritAMLi:Y  parsonage. 

world,  and  the  means  of  making  the  best  of  themselves. 
''  One  is  able  to  do  nothing,  you  know,  shut  up  there  down 
at  Plurastead,"  she  had  remarked  to  Lady  Lufton  on  the 
occasion  of  her  first  visit  to  London,  and  yet  the  time  was 
not  long  past  when  she  had  thought  that  rectory  house  at 
Plumstead  to  be  by  no  means  insufficient  or  contemptible. 

And  then  there  came  a  question  whether  or  no  Griselda 
should  go  back  to  her  mother ;  but  this  idea  was  very 
strongly  opposed  by  Lady  Lufton,  and  ultimately  with  suc- 
cess. "  I  really  think  the  dear  girl  is  very  happy  with  me," 
said  Lady  Lufton ;  "  and  if  ever  she  is  to  belong  to  me  more 
closely,  it  will  be  so  well  that  we  should  know  and  love  one 
another." 

To  tell  the  truth.  Lady  Lufton  had  been  trying  hard  to 
know  and  love  Griselda,  but  hitherto  she  had  scarcely  suc- 
ceeded to  the  full  extent  of  her  wishes.  That  she  loved 
Griselda  was  certain — with  that  sort  of  love  which  springs 
from  a  person's  volition  and  not  from  the  judgment.  She 
had  said  all  along  to  herself  and  others  that  she  did  love 
Griselda  Grantly.  She  had  admired  the  young  lady's  face, 
liked  her  manner,  approved  of  her  fortune  and  family,  and 
had  selected  her  for  a  daughter-in-law  in  a  somewhat  im- 
petuous manner.  Therefore  she  loved  her.  But  it  was  by 
no  means  clear  to  Lady  Lufton  that  she  did  as  yet  know 
her  young  friend.  The  match  was  a  plan  of  her  own,  and 
therefore  she  stuck  to  it  as  warmly  as  ever,  but  she  began 
to  have  some  misgivings  whether  or  no  the  dear  girl  would 
be  to  her  herself  all  that  she  had  dreamed  of  in  a  daughter- 
in-law. 

"  But,  dear  Lady  Lufton,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly,  "  is  it  not 
possible  that  we  may  put  her  affections  to  too  severe  a 
test  ?    What  if  she  should  learn  to  regard  him,  and  then — " 

"Ah!  if  she  did,  I  should  have  no  fear  of  the  result.  If 
she  shoAved  any  thing  like  love  for  Ludovic,  he  would  be  at 
her  feet  in  a  moment.     He  is  impulsive,  but  she  is  not." 

"  Exactly,  Lady  Lufton.  It  is  his  privilege  to  be  impuls- 
ive and  to  sue  for  her  affection,  and  hers  to  have  her  love 
sought  for  without  making  any  demonstration.  It  is  per- 
haps the  fault  of  young  ladies  of  the  present  day  that  they 
are  too  impulsive.  They  assume  privileges  which  are  not 
their  own,  and  thus  lose  those  which  are." 

"  Quite  true !  I  quite  agree  Avith  you.  It  is  probably 
that  verv  feelins:  that  has  made  me  think  so  highlv  of  Gri- 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  2o  < 

sekla.  But  then — "  But  then  a  young  lady,  though  she 
need  not  jump  down  a  gentleman's  throat,  or  throw  her- 
self into  his  face,  may  give  some  signs  that  she  is  made  of 
flesh  and  blood,  especially  when  her  papa  and  mamma,  and 
all  belonging  to  her,  are  so  anxious  to  make  the  path  of  her 
love  run  smooth.  That  was  what  was  passing  through 
Lady  Lufton's  mind  ;  but  she  did  not  say  it  all ;  she  mere- 
ly looked  it. 

"  I  don't  think  she  will  ever  allow  herself  to  indulge  in 
an  unauthorized  passion,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly. 

"  I  am  sure  she  will  not,"  said  Lady  Lufton,  Avith  ready 
agreement,  fearing  perhaps  in  her  heart  that  Griselda  would 
never  indulge  in  any  passion,  authorized  or  unauthorized. 

"  I  don't  know  Avhether  Lord  Lufton  sees  much  of  her 
now,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly,  thinking  perhaps  of  that  promise 
of  Lady  Lufton's  with  reference  to  his  lordship's  spare  time. 

"Just  lately,  during  these  changes,  you  know,  every  body 
has  been  so  much  engaged.  Ludovic  has  been  constantly 
at  the  House;  and  then  men  find  it  so  necessary  to  be  at 
their  clubs  just  now." 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly,  who  was  not  at 
all  disposed  to  think  little  of  the  importance  of  the  present 
crisis,  or  to  wonder  that  men  should  congregate  together 
when  such  deeds  w^ere  to  be  done  as  those  Avhich  now  oc- 
cupied the  breasts  of  the  queen's  advisers.  At  last,  howev- 
er, the  two  mothers  perfectly  imderstood  each  other.  Gri- 
selda was  still  to  remain  with  Lady  Lufton,  and  was  to  ac- 
cept her  ladyship's  son  if  he  could  only  be  induced  to  exer- 
cise his  privilege  of  asking  her ;  but,  in  the  mean  time,  as 
this  seemed  to  be  doubtful,  Griselda  was  not  to  be  debarred 
from  her  privilege  of  making  what  use  she  could  of  any 
other  string  which  she  might  have  to  her  bow. 

"  But,  mamma,"  said  Griselda,  in  a  moment  of  unwatch- 
cd  intercourse  between  the  mother  and  daughter,  "is  it  re- 
ally true  that  they  are  going  to  make  papa  a  bishop  ?" 

"  We  can  tell  nothing  as  yet,  my  dear.  People  in  the 
world  are  talking  about  it.  Your  papa  has  been  a  good 
deal  -with  Lord  t>e  Terrier." 

"  And  isn't  he  prime  minister  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  am  happy  to  say  that  lie  is." 

"I  thought  the  prime  minister  could  make  any  one  a 
bishop  that  he  chooses — any  clergyman,  that  is." 

"But  there  is  no  see  vacant,"  said  Mrs.  Grantlv. 


258  PKA3ILEY   PARSONAGE. 

"  Then  there  isn't  any  chance,"  said  Griselda,  looking 
very  glum. 

"  They  are  going  to  have  an  Act  of  Parliament  for  mak- 
ing two  more  bishops — that's  what  they  are  talking  about, 
at  least.     And  if  they  do — " 

"  Papa  will  be  Bishop  of  Westminster,  vv  on't  he  ?  And 
we  shall  live  in  London  ?" 

"  But  you  must  not  talk  about  it,  my  dear." 

"  N'o,  I  won't.  But,  mamma,  a  Bishop  of  Westminster 
will  be  higher  than  a  Bishop  of  Barchester,  won't  he  ?  I 
shall  so  like  to  be  able  to  snub  those  Miss  Proudies."  It 
will  tlierefore  be  seen  that  there  were  matters  on  which 
even  Griselda  Grantly  could  be  animated.  Like  the  rest 
of  her  family,  she  was  devoted  to  the  Church. 

Late  on  that  afternoon  the  archdeacon  returned  home  to 
dine  in  Mount  Street,  having  spent  the  whole  of  the  day  be- 
tween the  Treasury  Chambers,  a  meeting  of  Convocation, 
and  his  club.  And  Avhen  he  did  get  home  it  was  soon  man- 
ifest to  his  wife  that  he  was  not  laden  with  good  news. 

"  It  is  almost  incredible,"  he  said,  standing  with  his  back 
to  the  drawing-room  fire. 

"What  is  incredible?"  said  his  wife,  sharing  her  hus- 
band's, anxiety  to  the  full. 

"  If  I  Imd  not  learned  it  as  fact,  I  would  not  have  believed 
it,  even  of  Lord  Brock,"  said  the  archdeacon. 

"  Learned  what  ?"  said  the  anxious  Avife. 

'•  After  all,  they  are  going  to  oppose  the  bill." 

"  Impossible !"  said  Mrs.  Grantly. 

"But  they  are." 

"  The  bill  for  the  two  new  bishops,  archdeacon  ?  oppose 
their  own  bill !" 

"  Yes,  oppose  their  own  bill.  It  is  almost  incredible,  but 
so  it  is.  Some  changes  have  been  forced  upon  ns — little 
things  which  they  had  forgotten — quite  minor  matters; 
and  they  now  say  that  they  will  be  obhged  to  divide  against 
us  on  these  twopenny-halfpenny,  hair-splitting  points.  It 
is  Lord  Brock's  own  doing  too,  after  all  that  he  said  about 
abstaining  from  factious  opposition  to  the  government." 

"  I  believe  there  is  nothing  too  bad  or  too  false  for  that 
man,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly. 

"  After  all  they  said,  too,  when  they  were  in  power  them- 
selves, as  to  the  present  government  opposing  the  cause  of 
religion  !    They  declare  now  that  Lord  De  Terrier  can  not 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  259 

be  very  anxious  about  it,  as  lie  Jiad  so  many  good  reasons 
against  it  a  few  weeks  ago.  Is  it  not  dreadful  that  there 
should  be  such  double-dealing  in  men  in  such  positions  ?" 

"It  is  sickening,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly. 

And  then  there  was  a  pause  between  them  as  each, 
thought  of  the  injury  that  was  done  to  them. 

"But,  archdeacon — " 

"Well?" 

"  Could  you  not  give  up  those  small  points  and  shame 
them  into  compliance  ?" 

"  Nothing  would  shame  them." 

"  But  would  it  not  be  well  to  try  ?" 

The  game  was  so  good  a  one,  and  the  stake  was  so  im- 
portant, that  Mrs.  Grantly  felt  that  it  would  be  worth  play- 
ing for  to  the  last. 

"  It  is  no  good." 

"  But  I  certainly  would  suggest  it  to  Lord  De  Terrier. 
I  am  sure  the  country  would  go  along  with  him;  at  any 
rate,  the  Church  would." 

"  It  is  impossible,"  said  the .  archdeacon.  "  To  tell  the 
truth,  it  did  occur  to  me.  But  some  of  them  down  there 
seemed  to  think  that  it  Avould  not  do." 

Mrs.  Grantly  sat  a  while  on  the  sofa,  still  meditating  in 
her  mind  whether  there  might  not  yet  be  some  escape  from 
so  terrible  a  downfall. 

"  But,  archdeacon — " 

"  I'll  go  up  stairs  and  dress,"  said  he,  in  despondency. 

"  But,  archdeacon,  surely  the  present  ministry  may  have 
a  majority  on  such  a  subject  as  that ;  I  thought  they  Avere 
sure  of  a  majority  now." 

"  No,  not  sure." 

"  But,  at  any  rate,  the  chances  are  in  their  favor  ?  I  do 
hope  they'll  do  their  duty,,  and  exert  themselves  to  keep 
their  members  together." 

And  then  the  archdeacon  told  out  the  whole  of  the  truth. 

"Lord  De  Terrier  says  that  under  the  present  circum- 
stances he  will  not  bring  the  matter  forward  this  session  at 
all.     So  we  had  better  go  back  to  Plumstead." 

Mrs.  Grantly  then  felt  that  there  was  nothing  farther  to 
be  said,  and  it  will  be  proper  that  the  historian  should  drop 
a  veil  over  their  suiferinscs. 


260  FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

MAGNA     EST     VERITAS. 

It  was  made  known  to  the  reader  that  in  the  early  part 
of  the  winter  Mr.  Sow6rby  had  a  scheme  for  retrieving  his 
lost  fortunes,  and  setting  himself  right  in  the  world  by  mar- 
rying that  rich  heiress,  Miss  Dmistable.  I  fear  my  friend 
Sowerby  does  not,  at  present,  stand  high  in  the  estimation 
of  those  who  have  come  on  with  me  thus  far  in  this  narra- 
tive. He  has  been  described  as  a  spendthrift  and  gambler, 
and  as  one  scarcely  honest  in  his  extravagance  and  gam- 
bling. But,  nevertheless,  there  are  worse  men  than  Mr. 
Sowerby,  and  I  am  not  prepared  to  say  that,  should  he  be 
successful  with  Miss  Dunstable,  that  lady  would  choose  by 
any  means  the  worst  of  the  suitors  Avho  are  continually 
throwing  themselves  at  her  feet.  Reckless  as  this  man  al- 
Avays  appeared  to  be,  reckless  as  lie  absolutely  was,  there 
was  still  within  his  heart  a  desire  for  better  things,  and  in 
his  mind  an  understanding  that  he  had  hitherto  missed  the 
career  of  an  honest  English  gentleman.  He  was  proud  of 
his  position  as  member  for  his  county,  though  hitherto  lie 
had  done  so  little  to  grace  it ;  he  was  proud  of  his  domain 
at  Chaldicotes,  though  the  possession  of  it  had  so  nearly 
passed  out  of  his  own  hands ;  he  Avas  proud  of  the  old  blood 
that  flowed  in  his  veins ;  and  he  was  j^roud,  also,  of  that 
easy,  comfortable,  gay  manner,  which  went  so  far  in  the 
world's  judgment  to  atone  for  his  extravagance  and  evil 
practices.  If  only  he  could  get  another  chance,  as  he  now 
said  to  himself,  things  should  go  very  differently  with  him. 
He  would  utterly  forswear  the  whole  company  of  Tozers. 
He  would  cease  to  deal  in  bills,  and  to  pay  heaven  only 
knows  how  many  hundred  per  cent,  for  his  moneys.  He 
w^ould  no  longer  prey  upon  his  friends,  and  would  redeem 
his  title-deeds  from  the  clutches  of  the  Duke  of  Omnium. 
If  only  he  could  get  another  chance ! 

Miss  Dunstable's  fortune  would  do  all  this  and  ever  so 
much  more,  and  then,  moreover,  Miss  Dunstable  was  a 
woman  whom  he  really  liked.  She  was  not  soft,  feminine, 
or  i:)retty,  nor  was  she  very  young ;  but  she  was  clever, 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  261 

self-possessed,  and  quite  able  to  hold  her  own  in  any  class ; 
and  as  to  age,  Mr.  Sowerby  Avas  not  very  young  himself. 
In  making  such  a  match  he  would  have  no  cause  of  shame. 
He  could  speak  of  it  before  his  friends  without  fear  of  their 
grimaces,  and  ask  them  to  his  house  with  the  full  assurance 
that  the  head  of  his  table  would  not  disgrace  him.  And 
then,  as  the  scheme  grew  clearer  and  clearer  to  him,  he  de- 
clared to  himself  that  if  he  should  be  successful,  he  would 
use  her  well,  and  not  rob  her  of  her  money — beyond  what 
was  absolutely  necessary. 

He  had  intended  to  have  laid  his  fortunes  at  her  feet  at 
Chaldicotes;  but  the  lady  had  been  coy.  Then  the  deed 
was  to  have  been  done  at  Gatherum  Castle ;  but  the  lady 
ran  away  from  Gatherum  Castle  just  at  the  time  on  which 
he  had  fixed ;  and,  since  that,  one  circumstance  after  an- 
other had  postponed  the  affair  in  London,  till  now,  at  last, 
he  was  resolved  that  he  would  know  his  fate,  let  it  be  what 
it  might.  If  lie  could  not  contrive  that  things  should  speed- 
ily be  arranged,  it  might  come  to  pass  that  he  would  be  al- 
together debarred  from  presenting  himself  to  the  lady  as 
Mr.  Sowerby  of  Chaldicotes.  Tidings  had  reached  him, 
through  Mr.  Fothergill,  that  the  duke  would  be  glad  to 
have  matters  arranged,  and  Mr.  Sowerby  well  knew  the 
meaning  of  that  message. 

Mr.  Sowerby  was  not  fighting  this  campaign  alone,  with- 
out the  aid  of  an  ally.  Indeed,  no  man  ever  had  a  more 
trusty  ally  in  any  campaign  than  he  had  in  this ;  and  it  was 
this  ally,  the  only  faithful  comrade  that  clung  to  him  through 
good  and  ill  during  his  whole  life,  who  first  put  it  into  his 
head  that  Miss  Dunstable  was  a  woman  and  might  be  mar- 
ried. 

"A  hundred  needy  adventurers  have  attempted  it,  and 
failed  already,"  Mr.  Sowerby  had  said,  when  the  plan  w^as 
first  proposed  to  him. 

"  But,  nevertheless,  she  will  some  day  marry  some  one, 
and  why  not  you  as  well  as  another?"  his  sister  had  an- 
swered. For  Mrs.  Harold  Smith  was  the  ally  of  whom  I 
have  spoken. 

Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  whatever  may  have  been  her  faults, 
could  boast  of  this  virtue — that  she  loved  her  brother.  He 
was  probably  the  only  human  being  that  she  did  love. 
Children  she  had  none ;  and  as  for  her  husband,  it  had 
never  occurred  to  her  to  love  him.     She  had  married  him 


262  FIl AMLEY    TAKSOIS^AGE. 

for  a  position  ;  and,  being  a  clever  woman,  with  a  good  di- 
gestion and  conmiand  of  her  temper,  had  managed  to  get 
through  the  world  without  much  of  that  unhappiness  which 
usually  follows  ill-assorted  marriages.  At  home  she  man- 
aged to  keep  the  upper  hand,  but  she  did  so  in  an  easy, 
good-humored  way,  that  made  her  rule  bearable ;  and  away 
from  home  she  assisted  her  lord's  political  standing,  though 
she  laughed  more  keenly  than  any  one  else  at  his  foibles. 
But  the  lord  of  her  heart  was  her  brother,  and  in  all  his 
scrapes,  all  his  extravagance,  and  all  his  recklessness,  she 
had  ever  been  willing  to  assist  him.  With  the  view  of  do- 
ing this  she  had  sought  the  intimacy  of  Miss  Dunstable, 
and  for  the  last  year  past  had  indulged  every  caprice  of 
that  lady.  Or,  rather,  she  had  had  the  wit  to  learn  that 
Miss  Dunstable  was  to  be  won,  not  by  the  indulgence  of 
caprices,  but  by  free  and  easy  intercourse,  Avith  a  dash  of 
fun,  and,  at  any  rate,  a  semblance  of  honesty.  Mrs.  Harold 
Smith  was  not,  perhaps,  herself  very  honest  by  disi^osition ; 
but  in  these  latter  days  she  had  taken  up  a  theory  of  hon- 
esty for  the  sake  of  Miss  Dunstable — not  altogether  in  vain, 
for  Miss  Dunstable  and  Mrs.  Harold  Smith  were  certainly 
very  intimate. 

*'  If  I  am  to  do  it  at  all,  I  must  not  wait  any  longer," 
said  Mr.  Sowerby  to  his  sister  a  day  or  two  after  the  final 
break-down  of  the  gods.  The  affection  of  the  sister  for  the 
brother  may  be  imagined  from  the  fact  that  at  such  a  time 
she  could  give  up  her  mind  to  such  a  subject.  But,  in 
truth,  her  husband's  position  as  a  cabinet  minister  was  as 
nothing  to  her  compared  with  her  brother's  position  as  a 
county  gentleman. 

"  One  time  is  as  good  as  another,"  said  Mrs.  Harold 
Smith. 

"You  mean  that  you  would  advise  me  to  ask  her  at 
once." 

"  Certainly.  But  you  must  remember,  Nat,  that  yon  will 
have  no  easy  task.  It  will  not  do  for  you  to  kneel  down 
and  swear  that  you  love  her." 

"  If  I  do  it  at  all,  I  shall  certainly  do  it  wdthout  kneeling 
— you  may  be  sure  of  that,  Harriet." 

"  Yes,  and  without  swearing  that  you  love  her.  There 
is  only  one  way  in  which  you  can  be  successful  with  Miss 
Dunstable — you  must  tell  her  the  truth." 

"  What !  tell  her  that  I  am  ruined,  horse,  foot,  and  dra- 
goons, and  then  bid  her  help  me  out  of  the  mire  ?" 


FBAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  263 

"  Exactly ;  tliat  will  be  your  only  chance,  strange  as  it 
may  appear." 

"  This  is  very  different  from  what  you  used  to  say  down 
at  Chaldicotes." 

'*  So  it  is ;  but  I  know  her  much  better  than  I  did  when 
we  were  there.  Since  then  I  have  done  but  little  else  than 
study  the  freaks  of  her  character.  If  she  really  likes  you 
— and  I  think  she  does — she  could  forgive  you  any  other 
crime  but  that  of  swearing  that  you  loved  her." 

"  I  should  hardly  know  how  to  propose  without  saying 
sooiething  about  it." 

"  But  you  must  say  nothing — not  a  word ;  you  must  tell 
her  that  you  are  a  gentleman  of  good  blood  and  high  sta- 
tion, but  sadly  out  at  elbows." 

"  She  knows  that  already." 

"  Of  course  she  does ;  but  she  must  know  it  as  coming 
directly  from  your  own  mouth.  And  then  tell  her  that 
you  propose  to  set  yourself  right  by  marrying  her — by 
marrying  her  for  the  sake  of  her  money." 

"  That  will  hardly  win  her,  1  should  say." 

"  If  it  does  not,  no  other  way  that  I  know  of  will  do  so. 
As  I  told  you  before,  it  will  be  no  easy  task.  Of  course 
you  must  make  her  understand  that  her  happiness  shall  be 
cared  for ;  but  that  must  not  be  put  prominently  forward 
as  your  object.  Your  first  object  is  her  money,  and  your 
only  chance  for  success  is  in  telling  the  truth." 

"  It  is  very  seldom  that  a  man  finds  himself  in  such  a 
position  as  that,"  said  Sowerby,  walking  up  and  down  his 
sister's  room  ;  "  and,  upon  my  word,  I  don't  think  I  am  up 
to  the  task.  I  should  certainly  break  down.  I  don't  be- 
lieve there's  a  man  in  London  could  go  to  a  woman  with 
such  a  story  as  that,  and  then  ask  her  to  marry  him." 

"  If  you  can  not,  you  may  as  well  give  it  up,"  said  Mrs. 
Harold  Smith.  "  But  if  you  can  do  it — if  you  can  go  through 
with  it  in  that  manner,  my  own  opinion  is  that  your  chance 
of  success  would  not  be  bad.  The  fact  is,"  added^the  sis- 
ter after  a  while,  during  which  her  brother  was  continuing 
his  walk  and  meditating  on  the  difficulties  of  his  position, 
"  the  fact  is,  you  men  never  understand  a  woman ;  you  give 
her  credit  neither  for  her  strength  nor  for  her  weakness. 
You  are  too  bold  and  too  timid :  you  think  she  is  a  fool 
and  tell  her  so,  and  yet  never  can  trust  her  to  do  a  kind 
action.    Why  should  she  not  marry  you  with  the  intention 


264  FliAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

of  doing  you  a  good  turn  ?  After  all,  she  would  lose  very 
little:  there  is  the  estate,  and  if  she  redeemed  it,  it  would 
belong  to  her  as  well  as  to  you." 

"  It  would  be  a  good  turn,  indeed.  I  fear  I  should  be 
too  modest  to  put  it  to  her  in  that  way." 

"  Her  position  would  be  much  better  as  your  wife  than 
it  is  at  present.  You  are  good-humored  and  good-temper- 
ed ;  you  would  intend  to  treat  her  well,  and,  on  the  whole, 
she  would  be  much  happier  as  Mrs.  Sowerby  of  Chaldicotes 
than  she  can  be  in  her  present  position." 

"  If  she  cared  about  being  married,  I  suppose  she  cc^^ild 
be  a  peer's  wife  to-morrow." 

"  But  I  don't  think  she  cares  about  being  a  peer's  Avife. 
A  needy  peer  might  perhaps  win  her  in  the  w  ay  that  I  pro- 
pose to  you,  but  then  a  needy  peer  would  not  know  how 
to  set  about  it.  IsTeedy  peers  have  tried — half  a  dozen,  I 
have  no  doubt — and  have  failed  because  they  have  pretend- 
ed that  they  were  in  love  with  her.  It  may  be  difficult, 
but  vour  only  chance  is  to  tell  her  the  truth." 

"  And  where  shall  I  do  it  ?" 

"  Here,  if  you  choose ;  but  her  own  house  will  be  better." 

"But  I  never  can  see  her  there — at  least  not  alone.  I 
believe  that  she  never  is  alone.  She  always  keeps  a  lot  of 
people  round  her  in  order  to  stave  off  her  lovers.  Upon 
my  word,  Harriet,  I  think  I'll  give  it  up.  It  is  impossible 
that  I  should  make  such  a  declaration  to  her  as  that  you 
propose." 

"  Faint  heart,  Nat — you  know  the  rest." 

"  But  the  poet  never  alluded  to  such  wooing  as  that  you 
have  suggested.  I  suppose  I  had  better  begin  with  a  sched- 
ule of  my  debts,  and  make  reference,  if  she  doubts  me,  to 
Fothergill,  the  sheriff's  officers,  and  the  Tozer  family." 

"  She  will  not  doubt  you  on  that  head,  nor  will  she  be  a 
bit  surprised." 

Then  there  w^as  again  a  pause,  during  wdiich  Mr.  Sower- 
by still  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  thinking  whether 
or  no  lie  might  possibly  have  any  chance  of  success  in  so 
hazardous  an  enterprise. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Harriet,"  at  last  he  said,  "  I  wish  you'd 
do  it  for  me." 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  if  you  really  mean  it,  I  will  make  the 
attempt." 

"  I  am  sure  of  this,  that  I  shall  never  make  it  myself.     I 


FRAMLEY   PAESOXAGE.  265 

positively  should  not  have  the  courage  to  tell  her  in  so 
many  words  that  I  wanted  to  marry  her  for  her  money." 

"  Well,  Nat,  I  Avill  attempt  it.  At  any  rate,  I  am  not 
afraid  of  her.  She  and  I  are  excellent  friends,  and,  to  tell 
the  truth,  I  think  I  like  her  better  than  any  other  woman 
that  I  know ;  but  I  never  should  have  been  intimate  with 
her  had  it  not  been  for  your  sake." 

"  And  now  you  will  have  to  quarrel  with  her,  also  for  my 
sake?" 

"  Not  at  all.  You'll  find  that,  whether  she  accedes  to 
my  proposition  or  not,  we  shall  continue  friends.  I  do  not 
think  that  she  would  die  for  me,  nor  I  for  her.  But,  as 
the  world  goes,  we  suit  each  other.  Such  a  little  trifle  as 
this  will  not  break  our  loves." 

And  so  it  was  settled.  On  the  following  day  Mrs. 
Harold  Smith  was  to  find  an  opportunity  of  explaining  the 
whole  matter  to  Miss  Dunstable,  and  was  to  ask  that  lady 
to  share  her  fortune — some  incredible  number  of  thousands 
of  pounds — with  the  bankrupt  member  for  West  Barset- 
shire,  who,  in  return,  was  to  bestow  on  her — himself  and 
his  debts. 

Mrs.  Harold  Smith  had  spoken  no  more  than  the  truth 
in  saying  that  she  and  Miss  Dunstable  suited  one  another. 
And  she  had  not  improperly  described  their  friendship. 
They  were  not  prepared  to  die,  one  for  the  sake  of  the 
other.  They  had  said  nothing  to  each  other  of  mutual 
love  and  aftection.  They  never  kissed,  or  cried,  or  made 
speeches  when  they  met  or  when  they  parted.  There  was 
no  great  benefit  for  which  either  had  to  be  grateful  to  the 
other — no  terrible  injury  whicli  either  had  forgiven.  But 
they  suited  each  other ;  and  this,  I  take  it,  is  the  secret  of 
most  of  our  pleasantest  intercourse  in  the  world. 

And  it  was  almost  grievous  that  they  should  suit  each 
other,  for  Miss  Dunstable  was  much  the  worthier  of  the 
two,  had  she  but  known  it  herself.  It  was  almost  to  be 
lamented  that  she  should  have  found  herself  able  to  live 
with  Mrs.  Harold  Smith  on  terms  that  were  perfectly  sat- 
isfactory to  herself.  Mrs.  Harold  Smith  was  Avorldly,  heart- 
less— to  all  the  world  but  her  brother — and,  as  has  been 
above  hinted,  almost  dishonest.  Miss  Dunstable  was  not 
worldly,  though  it  was  possible  that  her  present  style  of 
life  might  make  her  so ;  she  was  affectionate,  fond  of  truth, 
and  prone  to  honesty,  if  those  around  would  but  allow  her 


266  FiiAMLEY    PAHSONAGE. 

to  exercise  it.  But  she  was  fond  of  ease  and  humor,  some- 
times of  wit  that  might  almost  be  called  broad,  and  she 
had  a  thorough  love  of  ridiculing  the  world's  humbugs. 
In  all  these  propensities  Mrs.  Harold  Smith  indulged  her. 

Under  these  circumstances  they  were  now  together  al- 
most every  day.  It  had  become  quite  a  habit  with  Mrs. 
Harold  Smith  to  have  herself  driven  early  in  the  forenoon 
to  Miss  Dunstable's  house ;  and  that  lady,  though  she  could 
never  be  found  alone  by  Mr.  Sowerby,  Avas  habitually  so 
found  by  his  sister.  And  after  that  they  would  go  out  to- 
gether, or  each  separately,  as  fancy  or  the  business  of  the 
day  might  direct  them.  Each  was  easy  to  the  other  in 
this  alliance,  and  they  so  managed  that  they  never  trod  on 
each  other's  corns. 

On  the  day  following  the  agreement  made  between  Mr. 
Sowerby  and  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  that  lady,  as  usual,  called 
on  Miss  Dunstable,  and  soon  found  herself  alone  with  her 
friend  in  a  small  room  Avhich  the  heiress  kept  solely  for  her 
own  purj)oses.  On  special  occasions  persons  of  various 
sorts  were  there  admitted ;  occasionally  a  parson  who  had 
a  church  to  build,  or  a  dowager  laden  with  the  last  morsel 
of  town  slander,  or  a  poor  author  who  could  not  get  due 
payment  for  the  efforts  of  his  brain,  or  a  poor  governess  on 
whose  feeble  stamina  the  weight  of  the  world  had  borne  too 
hardly.  But  men  Avho  by  possibility  could  be  lovers  did 
not  make  their  way  thither,  nor  women  who  could  be  bores. 
In  these  latter  days,  that  is,  during  the  present  London  sea- 
son, the  doors  of  it  had  been  oftener  opened  to  Mrs.  Harold 
Smith  than  to  any  other  person. 

And  now  the  effort  Avas  to  be  made  with  the  object  of 
which  all  this  intimacy  had  been  effected.  As  she  came 
thither  in  her  carriage,  Mrs.  Harold  Smith  herself  was  not 
altogether  devoid  of  that  sinking  of  the  heart  which  is  so 
frequently  the  forerunner  of  any  difficult  and  hazardous  un- 
dertaking. She  had  declared  that  she  would  feel  no  fear 
in  making  the  little  proposition.  But  she  did  feel  some- 
thing very  like  it ;  and  when  she  made  her  entrance  into 
the  little  room,  she  certainly  wished  that  the  work  was 
done  and  over. 

"  How  is  poor  Mr.  Smith  to-day  ?"  asked  Miss  Dunstable, 
with  an  air  of  mock  condolence,  as  her  friend  seated  her- 
self in  her  accustomed  easy-chair.  The  downfall  of  the 
gods  was  as  yet  a  history  hardly  three  days  old,  and  it 


FKAMLEY  PARSONAGE.  26  I 

might  well  be  supposed  that  the  late  lord  of  the  Petty  Bag 
had  hardly  recovered  from  liis  misfortune. 

"Well,  he  is  better,  I  think,  this  morning — at  least  I 
should  judge  so  from  the  manner  in  which  he  confronted 
his  eggs.  But  still  I  don't  like  the  way  he  handles  the  carv- 
ing-knife. I  am  sure  he  is  always  thinking  of  Mr.  Suj^ple- 
house  at  those  moments." 

"  Poor  man !  I  mean  Supplehouse.  After  all,  why 
shouldn't  he  follow  his  trade  as  well  as  another?  Live 
and  let  live,  that's  what  I  say." 

"Ay,  but  it's  kill  and  let  kill  with  him.  That  is  what 
Horace  says.  However,  I  am  tired  of  all  that  now,  and  I 
came  here  to-day  to  talk  about  something  else." 

"I  rather  like  Mr.  Suj^plehouse  myself,"  exclaimed  Miss 
Dunstable.  "He  never  makes  any  bones  about  the  mat- 
ter. He  has  a  certain  work  to  do,  and  a  certain  cause  to 
serve — namely,  his  own  ;  and,  in  order  to  do  that  work  and 
serve  that  cause,  he  uses  such  weapons  as  God  has  placed 
in  his  hands." 

"  That's  what  the  wild  beasts  do." 

"  And  where  will  you  find  men  honester  than  they  ?  The 
tiger  tears  you  up  because  he  is  hungry  and  wants  to  eat 
you.  That's  what  Supplehouse  does.  But  there  are  so 
many  among  us  tearing  up  one  another  without  any  excuse 
of  hunger.  The  mere  pleasure  of  destroying  is  reason 
enough." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  my  mission  to  you  to-day  is  certainly 
not  one  of  destruction,  as  you  will  admit  when  you  hear  it. 
It  is  one,  rather,  very  absolutely  of  salvation.  I  have  come 
to  make  love  to  you." 

"Then  the  salvation,  I  suppose,  is  not  for  myself,"  said 
Miss  Dunstable. 

It  was  quite  clear  to  Mrs.  Harold  Smith  that  Miss  Dun- 
stable had  immediately  understood  the  whole  purport  of 
this  visit,  and  that  she  was  not  in  any  great  measure  sur- 
prised. It  did  not  seem  from  the  tone  of  the  heiress's 
voice,  or  from  the  serious  look  which  at  once  settled  on 
her  face,  that  she  would  be  prepared  to  give  a  very  ready 
compliance.  But  then  great  objects  can  only  be  won  with 
great  efforts. 

"  That's  as  may  be,"  said  Mrs.  Harold  Smith.  "  For  you 
and  another  also,  I  hope.  But  I  trust,  at  any  rate,  that  I 
may  not  offend  you." 


268  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

"  Oh,  laws !  no ;  nothing  of  that  kind  ever  offends  mc 
now." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you're  used  to  it," 

"  Like  the  eels,  my  dear.  I  don't  mind  it  the  least  in  the 
world — only  sometimes,  you  know,  it  is  a  little  tedious." 

"  I'll  endeavor  to  avoid  that,  so  I  may  as  well  break  the 
ice  at  once.  You  know  enough  of  Nathaniel's  affairs  to  be 
aware  that  he  is  not  a  very  rich  man." 

"  Since  you  do  ask  me  about  it,  I  suppose  there's  no  harm 
in  saying  that  I  believe  him  to  be  a  very  poor  man." 

"  Not  the  least  harm  in  the  world,  but  just  the  reverse. 
Whatever  may  come  of  this,  my  wish  is  that  the  truth 
should  be  told  scrupulously  on  all  sides ;  the  truth,  the 
whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth." 

'-''Magna  est  Veritas^''''  said  Miss  Dunstable.  "The  Bish- 
op of  Barchester  taught  me  as  much  Latin  as  that  at  Chal- 
dicotes ;  and  he  did  add  some  more,  but  there  was  a  long 
word,  and  I  forgot  it." 

"  The  bishop  was  quite  right,  my  dear,  I'm  sure.  But 
if  you  go  to  your  Latin,  I'm  lost.  As  we  were  just  now 
saying,  my  brother's  pecuniary  affairs  are  in  a  very  bad 
state.  He  has  a  beautiful  property  of  his  own,  which  has 
been  in  the  family  for  I  can't  say  how  many  centuries — 
long  before  the  Conquest,  I  know." 

"  I  wonder  what  my  ancestors  were  then  ?" 

"  It  does  not  much  signify  to  any  of  us,"  said  Mrs.  Har- 
old Smith,  with  a  moral  shake  of  her  head,  "  what  our  an- 
cestors were;  but  it's  a  sad  thing  to  see  an  old  property 
go  to  ruin." 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  we  none  of  us  like  to  see  our  property  go- 
ing to  ruin,  whether  it  be  old  or  new.  I  have  some  of  that 
sort  of  feeling  already,  although  mine  was  only  made  the 
other  day  out  of  an  apothecary's  shop." 

"  God  forbid  that  I  should  ever  help  you  to  ruin  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Harold  Smith.  "  I  should  be  sorry  to  be  the  means 
of  your  losing  a  ten-pound  note." 

'•'•Magna  est  Veritas,  as  the  dear  bishop  said,"  exclaimed 
Miss  Dunstable.  "  Let  us  have  the  truth,  the  wOiole  truth, 
and  nothing  but  the  truth,  as  we  agreed  just  now." 

Mrs.  Harold  Smith  did  begin  to  find  that  the  task  before 
her  was  difficult.  There  was  a  hardness  about  Miss  Dun- 
stable when  matters  of  business  were  concerned  on  which 
it  seemed  almost  impossible  to  make  any  impression.     It 


pramLey  taesonage.  269 

was  not  that  she  had  evinced  any  determination  to  refuse 
the  tender  of  Mr.  Sowerby's  hand,  but  she  was  so  painfully 
resolute  not  to  have  dust  thrown  in  her  eyes!  Mrs. Har- 
old Smith  had  commenced  -w^ith  a  mind  fixed  upon  avoid- 
ing what  she  called  humbug ;  but  this  sort  of  humbug  had 
become  so  prominent  a  part  of  her  usual  rhetoric,  that  she 
found  it  very  hard  to  abandon  it. 

"  x\nd  that's  Avhat  I  wish,"  said  she.  "  Of  course,  my 
chief  object  is  to  secure  my  brother's  happiness." 

"That's  very  unkind  to  poor  Mr. Harold  Smith." 

"Well,  well,  well — you  know  what  I  mean." 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  do  know  what  you  mean.  Your  brother 
is  a  gentleman  of  good  family,  but  of  no  means." 

"  Not  quite  so  bad  as  that." 

"  Of  embarrassed  means,  then,  or  any  thing  that  you  will ; 
whereas  I  am  a  lady  of  no  family,  but  of  sufficient  wealth. 
You  think  that  if  you  brought  us  together  and  made  a 
match  of  it,  it  would  be  a  very  good  thing  for — for  whom  ?" 
said  Miss  Dunstable. 

"Yes,  exactly,"  said  Mrs. Harold  Smith. 

"For  which  of  us  ?  Remember  the  bishop  now  and  his 
nice  little  bit  of  Latin." 

"  For  Nathaniel  then,"  said  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  boldly. 
"  It  would  be  a  very  good  thing  for  him."  And  a  slight 
smile  came  across  her  face  as  she  said  it.  "Now  that's 
honest,  or  the  mischief  is  in  it." 

*'  Yes,  that's  honest  enough.  And  did  he  send  you  liere 
to  tell  me  this  ?" 

"  Well,  he  did  that,  and  something  else." 

"  And  now  let's  have  the  something  else.  The  really  im- 
portant part,  I  have  no  doubt,  has  been  spoken." 

"  No,  by  no  means — by  no  means  all  of  it.  But  you  are 
so  hard  on  one,  my  dear,  with  your  running  after  honesty, 
that  one  is  not  able  to  tell  the  real  facts  as  they  are.  You 
make  one  speak  in  such  a  bald,  naked  way." 

"  Ah !  you  think  that  any  thing  naked  must  be  indecent 
— even  truth." 

"  I  think  it  is  more  proper-looking,  and  better  suited, 
too,  for  the  world's  work,  when  it  goes  about  with  some 
sort  of  a  garment  on  it.  We  are  so  used  to  a  leaven  of 
falsehood  in  all  we  hear  and  say,  nowadays,  that  nothing  is 
more  likely  to  deceive  us  than  the  absolute  truth.  If  a 
shopkeeper  told  me  that  his  wares  were  simply  middling, 


270  FBAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

of  course  I  should  think  they  were  not  worth  n,  farthing. 
But  all  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  poor  brother. 
Well,  what  was  I  saying  ?" 

"  You  were  going  to  tell  nte  how  well  he  would  use  me, 
no  doubt." 

"  Something  of  that  kind." 

"  That  he  wouldn't  beat  me ;  or  spend  all  my  money  if 
I  managed  to  have  it  tied  up  out  of  his  power ;  or  look 
down  on  me  with  contempt  because  my  father  was  an 
apothecary !     Was  not  that  what  you  were  going  to  say  ?" 

*'  I  was  going  to  tell  you  that  you  might  be  more  happy 
as  Mrs.  Sowerby  of  Chaldicotes  than  you  can  be  as  Miss 
Dunstable—" 

"Of  Mount  Lebanon.  And  had  Mr.  Sowerby  no  other 
message  to  send  ?  nothing  about  love,  or  any  thing  of  that 
sort?  I  should  like,  you  know,  to  understand  what  his 
feelings  are  before  I  take  such  a  leap." 

"  I  do  believe  he  has  as  true  a  regard  for  you  as  any  man 
of  his  age  ever  does  have — " 

"  For  any  woman  of  mine.  That  is  not  putting  it  in  a 
very  devoted  way,  certainly ;  but  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you 
remember  the  bishop's  maxim." 

"  What  would  you  have  me  say  ?  If  I  told  you  that  he 
was  dying  for  love,  you  would  say  I  was  trying  to  cheat 
you;  and  now,  because  I  don't  tell  you  so, you  say  that  he 
is  wanting  in  devotion.    I  must  say  you  are  hard  to  please." 

"  Perhaps  I  am,  and  very  unreasonable  into  the  bargain. 
I  ought  to  ask  no  questions  of  the  kind  when  your  brother 
proposes  to  do  me  so  much  honor.  As  for  my  expecting 
the  love  of  a  man  who  condescends  to  wish  to  be  my  hus- 
band, that,  of  course,  would  be  monstrous.  What  right 
can  I  have  to  think  that  any  man  should  love  me?  It 
ought  to  be  enough  for  me  to  know  that,  as  I  am  rich,  I 
can  get  a  husband.  What  business  can  such  as  I  have  to 
inquire  whether  the  gentleman  who  would  so  honor  me 
really  would  like  my  company,  or  would  only  deign  to  put 
up  with  my  presence  in  his  household  ?" 

"  Now,  my  dear  Miss  Dunstable — "  • 

"  Of  course  I  am  not  such  an  ass  as  to  expect  tliati  any 
gentleman  should  love  me,  and  I  feel  that  I  ought  to  be 
obliged  to  your  brother  for  sparing  me  the  string  of  com- 
plimentary declarations  which  are  usual  on  such  occasions. 
He,  at  any  rate,  is  not  tedious — or,  rather,  you  on  his  be- 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  27 1 

half;  for  no  doubt  bis  own  time  is  so  occupied  with  his 
parUamentary  duties  that  he  can  not  attend  to  this  Httle 
matter  himself  I  do  feel  grateful  to  him ;  and  perhaps 
nothing  more  will  be  necessjiiy  than  to  give  him  a  sched- 
ule of  the  property,  and  name  an  early  day  for  putting  him 
in  possession." 

Mrs.  Smith  did  feel  that  she  was  rather  badly  used.  This 
Miss  Dunstable,  in  their  mutual  confidences,  had  so  often 
ridiculed  the  love-making  grimaces  of  her  mercenary  suit- 
ors, had  spoken  so  fiercely  against  those  who  had  perse- 
cuted her,  not  because  they  had  desired  her  money,  but  on 
account  of  their  ill  judgment  in  thinking  her  to  be  a  fool, 
that  Mrs.  Smith  had  a  right  to  expect  that  the  method  she 
had  adopted  for  opening  the  negotiation  would  be  taken  in 
a  better  spirit.  Could  it  be  possible,  after  all,  thought  Mrs. 
Smith  to  herself,  that  Miss  Dunstable  was  like  other  wom- 
en, and  that  she  did  like  to  have  men  kneeling  at  her  feet  ? 
Could  it  be  the  case  that  she  liad  advised  her  brother  bad- 
ly, and  that  it  would  have  been  better  for  him  to  have  gone 
about  his  work  in  the  old-fashioned  way  ?  "  They  are  very 
hard  to  manage,"  said  Mrs.  Harold  Smith  to  herself,  think- 
ing of  her  own  sex. 

"  He  was  coming  here  himself,"  said  she, "  but  I  advised 
him  not  to  do  so." 

"  That  was  so  kind  of  you." 

"  I  thought  that  I  could  explain  to  you  more  openly  and 
more  freely  what  his  intentions  really  are." 

"  Oh !  I  have  no  doubt  that  they  are  honorable,"  said 
Miss  Dunstable.  "  He- does  not  want  to  deceive  me  in  that 
way,  I  am  quite  sure." 

It  was  impossible  to  help  laughing,  and  Mrs.  Harold 
Smith  did  laugh.  "  Upon  my  word,  you  would  provoke  a 
saint,"  said  she. 

"I  am  not  likely  to  get  into  any  such  company  by  the 
alliance  that  you  are  now  suggesting  to  me.  There  are 
not  many  saints  usually  at  Chaldicotes,  I  believe — always 
excepting  my  dear  bishop  and  his  wife." 

"  But,  my  dear,  what  am  I  to  say  to  Nathaniel  ?" 

*'  Tell  him,  of  course,  how  much  obliged  to  him  I  am." 

"  Do  listen  to  me  one  moment.  I  dare  say  that  I  have 
done  wrong  to  speak  to  you  in  such  a  bold,  unromantic 
way." 

*'  Not  at  all.     The  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing 


272  FBAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

but  the  triitli.  That's  what  wc  agreed  upon.  But  one's 
Urst  efforts  in  any  line  are  always  apt  to  be  a  little  un- 
couth." 

"  I  will  send  Nathaniel  to  you  himself." 

"  No,  do  not  do  so.  Why  torment  either  him  or  me  ? 
I  do  like  your  brother — in  a  certain  way  I  like  him  much. 
But  no  earthly  consideration  would  induce  me  to  marry 
him.  Is  it  not  so  glaringly  plain  that  he  would  marry  me 
for  my  money  only,  that  you  have  not  even  dared  to  sug- 
gest any  other  reason  ?" 

"  Of  course  it  would  have  been  nonsense  to  say  that  lie 
had  no  regard  Avhatever  toward  your  money." 

"Of  course  it  would — absolute  nonsense.  He  is  a  poor 
man  with  a  good  position,  and  he  wants  to  marry  me  be- 
cause I  have  got  that  which  he  wants.  But,  my  dear,  I  do 
not  want  that  which  he  has  got,  and  therefore  the  bargain 
would  not  be  a  fair  one." 

"  But  he  Avould  do  his  very  best  to  make  you  happy." 

"  I  am  so  much  obliged  to  him ;  but,  you  see,  I  am  very 
happy  as  I  am.     What  should  I  gain  ?" 

"A  companion  w^hom  you  confess  that  you  like.". 

"Ah!  but  I  don't  knoAV  that  I  should  like  too  much, 
even  of  such  a  companion  as  your  brother.  No,  my  dear, 
it  Avon't  do.  Believe  me  when  I  tell  you,  once  for  all,  that 
it  won't  do." 

"Do  you  mean,  then,  Miss  Dunstable,  that  you'll  never 
marry?" 

"  To-morrow — if  I  met  any  one  that  I  fancied,  and  he 
would  have  me.  But  I  rather  think  that  any  that  I  may 
iimcy  won't  have  me.  In  the  first  place,  if  I  marry  any  one, 
the  man  must  be  quite  indifferent  to  money." 

"  Then  you'll  not  find  him  in  this  world,  my  dear." 

"  Very  possibly  not,"  said  Miss  Dunstable. 

All  that  was  farther  said  upon  the  subject  need  not  be 
here  repeated.  Mrs.  Harold  "Smith  did  not  give  up  her 
cause  quite  at  once,  although  Miss  Dunstable  had  spoken 
so  plainly.  She  tried  to  explain  how  eligible  would  be  her 
friend's  situation  as  mistress  of  Chaldicotes,  when  Chaldi- 
cotes  should  owe  no  penny  to  any  man ;  and  went  so  far  as 
to  hint  that  the  master  of  Chaldicotes,  if  relieved  of  his  em- 
barrassments and  known  as  a  rich  man,  might  in  all  prob- 
ability be  found  worthy  of  a  peerage  Avhen  the  gods  should 
return  to  Olympus.     Mr.  Harold  Smitli,  as  a  cabinet  minis- 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGK.  273 

ter,  would,  of  course,  do  his  best.  But  it  was  all  of  no  use. 
"  It's  not  my  destiny,"  said  Miss  Dunstable,  "  and  there- 
fore do  not  press  it  any  longer." 

"  But  we  shall  not  quarrel,"  said  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  al. 
most  tenderly. 

"  Oh  no,  why  should  we  quarrel?" 
"  And  you  won't  look  glum  at  my  brother  ?" 
"  Why  should  I  look  glum  at  him  ?    But,  Mrs.  Smith,  I'll 
do  more  than  not  looking  glum  at  him.    I  do  like  you,  and 
I  do  like  your  brother,  and  if  I  can  in  any  moderate  way 
assist  him  in  his  difficulties,  let  him  tell  me  so." 

Soon  after  this  Mrs.  Harold  Smith  went  her  way.  Of 
course,  she  declared  in  a  very  strong  manner  that  her 
brother  could  not  think  of  accepting  from  Miss  Dunstable 
any  such  pecuniary  assistance  as  that  oifered ;  and,  to  give 
her  her  due,  such  was  the  feeling  of  her  mind  at  the  mo- 
ment; but  as  she  went  to  meet  her  brother  and  gave  him 
an  account  of  this  interview,  it  did  occur  to  her  that  possi- 
bly Miss  Dunstable  might  be  a  better  creditor  than  the 
Duke  of  Omnium  for  the  Chaldicotes  property. 


CHAPTER  XXY. 

NON-IMPULSIVE. 

It  can  not  be  held  as  astonishing  that  that»last  decision 
on  the  part  of  the  Giants  in  the  matter  of  the  two  bishop- 
rics should  have  disgusted  Archdeacon  Grantly.  He  was 
a  politician,  but  not  a  politican  as  they  were.  As  is  the 
case  with  all  exoteric  men,  his  political  eyes  saw  a  short 
way  only,  and  his  political  aspirations  were  as  limited. 
When  his  friends  came  into  office,  that  Bishop  Bill,  which, 
as  the  original  product  of  his  enemies,  had  been  regarded 
by  him  as  being  so  pernicious — for  was  it  not  about  to  be 
made  law  in  order  that  other  Proudies  and  such  like  might 
be  hoisted  up  into  high  ])laces  and  large  incomes,  to  the 
terrible  detriment  of  the  Church  ? — that  Bishop  Bill,  I  say, 
in  the  hands  of  his  friends,  had  appeared  to  him  to  be  a 
means  of  almost  national  salvation.  And  then,  how  great 
had  been  the  good  fortune  of  the  Giants  in  this  matter! 
Had  they  been  the  originators  of  sucli  a  measure  they 
would  not  have  had  a  chance  of  success  ;  but  now — now 
that  the  two  bishops  were  falling  into  their  mouths  out  of 

M  2 


274  FEAIkn.EY    PARSONAGE. 

the  weak  hands  of  the  Gods,  was  not  their  success  insured  ? 
So  Dr.  Grantly  had  girded  uj)  his  loins  and  marched  up  to 
the  fight,  ahnost  regretting  that  the  triumph  would  be  so 
easy.  The  subsequent  failure  was  very  trying  to  his  tem- 
per as  a  party  man. 

It  always  strikes  me  that  the  supporters  of  the  Titans 
are  in  this  respect  much  to  be  pitied.  The  Giants  them- 
selves— those  who  are  actually  handling  Pelion,  and  break- 
ing their  shins  over  the  lower  rocks  of  Ossa,  are  always 
advancing  in  some  sort  toward  the  councils  of  Olympus. 
Their  highest  policy  is  to  snatch  some  ray  from  heaven. 
Why  else  put  Pelion  on  Ossa,  unless  it  be  that  a  furtive 
liancl,  making  its  way  through  Jove's  windows,  may  pluck 
forth  a  thunderbolt  or  two,  or  some  article  less  destructive, 
but  of  manufacture  equally  divine?  And  in  this  consists 
the  wisdom  of  the  higher  Giants* — that,  in  spite  of  their 
mundane  antecedents,  theories,  and  predilections,  they  can 
see  that  articles  of  divine  manufacture  are  necessary.  But 
then  they  never  carry  their  supporters  with  them.  Their 
whole  army  is  an  army  of  martyrs.  "  For  twenty  years  I 
have  stuck  to  them,  and  see  how  they  have  treated  me !" 
Is  not  that  always  the  plaint  of  an  old  giant-slave ?  "I 
have  been  true  to  my  party  all  my  life,  and  where  am  I 
now?"  he  says.  Where,  indeed,  my  friend?  Looking 
all  about  you,  you  begin  to  learn  that  you  can  not  describe 
your  whereabouts.  I  do  not  marvel  at  that.  No  one  finds 
himself  planted  at  last  in  so  terribly  foul  a  morass  as  he 
Avould  fain  stand  still  forever  on  dry  ground. 

Dr.  Grantly  was  disgusted ;  and,  although  he  was  him- 
self too  true  and  thorough  in  all  his  feelings  to  be  able  to 
say  aloud  that  any  Giant  was  wrong,  still  he  had  a  sad 
feeling  within  his  heart  that  the  world  was  sinking  from 
under  him.  He  was  still  sufficiently  exoteric  to  think  that 
a  good  stand-up  fight  in  a  good  cause  was  a  good  thing. 
No  doubt  he  did  wish  to  be  Bishop  of  Westminster,  and 
was  anxious  to  compass  that  preferment  by  any  means  that 
might  appear  to  him  to  be  fair.  And  why  not?  But  this 
was  not  the  end  of  his  aspirations.  He  wished  that  thi3 
Giants  might  prevail  in  every  thing — in  bishoprics  as  in 
all  other  matters ;  and  he  could  not  understand  that  they 
should  give  way  on  the  very  first  appearance  of  a  skirmish. 
In  his  open  talk  he  was  loud  against  many  a  god,  but  in  his 
heart  of  hearts  he  was  bitter  enough  against  both  Porphyr- 
ion  and  Orion.  • 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  275 

"  My  dear  doctor,  it  would  not  do — not  in  this  session  ; 
it  would  not,  indeed."  So  had  spoken  to  him  a  half-fledged, 
but  especially  esoteric  young  monster-cub  at  the  Treasury, 
who  considered  himself  as  up  to  all  the  dodges  of  his  party, 
and  regarded  the  army  of  martyrs  who  supported  it  as  a 
rather  heavy,  but  very  useful  collection  of  fogies.  Dr. 
Grantly  had  not  cared  to  discuss  the  matter  with  the  half- 
fledged  monster-cub.  The  best  licked  of  all  the  monsters, 
the  Giant  most  like  a  god  of  them  all,  had  said  a  word  or 
two  to  him,  and  he  also  had  said  a  word  or  two  to  that 
Giant.  Porphyrion  had  told  him  that  the  Bishop  Bill 
would  not  do  ;  and  he,  in  return,  speaking  with  warm  face, 
and  blood  in  his  cheeks,  had  told  Porphyrion  that  he  saw 
no  reason  why  the  bill  should  not  do.  The  courteous  Giant 
had  smiled  as  he  shook  his  ponderous  head,  and  then  the 
archdeacon  had  left  him,  unconsciously  shaking  some  dust 
from  his  shoes  as  he  paced  the  passages  of 'the  Treasury 
Chambers  for  the  last  time.  As  he  walked  back  to  his 
lodgings  in  Mount  Street,  many  thoughts,  not  altogether 
bad  in  their  nature,  passed  through  his  mind.  AVhy  should 
he  trouble  himself  about  a  bishopric  ?  Was  he  not  well  as 
he  was,  in  his  rectory  down  at  Plumstead  ?  Might  it  not 
be  ill  for  him,  at  his  age,  to  transplant  himself  into  new 
soil,  to  engage  in  new  duties,  and  live  among  new  people? 
Was  he  not  useful  at  Barchestei\  and  respected  also ;  and 
might  it  not  be  possible  that  up  there  at  Westminster  he 
might  be  regarded  merely  as  a  tool  with  which  other  men 
could  work  ?  He  had  not  quite  liked  the  tone  of  that  spe- 
cially esoteric  young  monster-cub,  who  had  clearly  regard- 
ed him  as  a  distinguished  fogy  from  the  army  of  martyrs. 
He  would  take  his  wife  back  to  Barsetshire,  and  there  live 
contented  with  the  good  things  which  Providence  had 
given  him. 

Those  high  political  grapes  had  become  sour,  my  sneer- 
ing friends  will  say.  Well  ?  Is  it  not  a  good  thing  that 
grapes  should  become  sour  Avhich  hang  out  of  reach  ?  Is 
he  not  wise  who  can  regard  all  grapes  as  sour  which  are 
manifestly  too  high  for  his  hand?  Those  grapes  of  the 
Treasury  Bench,  for  which  gods  and  giants  fight,  suffering 
so  much  when  they  are  forced  to  abstain  from  eating,  and 
so  much  more  when  they  do  eat,  those  grapes  are  very  sour 
to  me.  I  am  sure  that  they  are  indigestible,  and  that  those 
who  eat  them  undergo  all  the  ills  which  the  Revalenta 


276  PRAMLEY    TARSONAGE. 

Arabica  is  prepared  to  cure.  And  so  it  was  now  with  the 
archdeacon.  He  thought  of  the  strain  which  would  have 
been  put  on  liis  conscience  had  he  come  up  there  to  sit  in 
London  as  Bishop  of  Westminster,  and  in  this  frame  of 
mind  he  walked  home  to  his  wife. 

During  the  first  few  moments  of  his  interview  with  her 
all  his  regrets  had  come  back  upon  him.  Indeed,  it  Avould 
have  liardly  suited  for  him  then  to  have  preached  this  new 
doctrine  of  rural  contentment.  The  Avife  of  his  bosom, 
Avhora  he  so  fully  trusted — had  so  fully  loved — wished  for 
grapes  that  hung  high  upon  the  wall,  and  he  knew  that  it 
was  past  his  power  to  teach  her  at  the  moment  to  drop  her 
ambition.  Any  teaching  that  he  might  effect  in  that  way 
must  come  by  degrees.  But  before  many  minutes  were 
over  he  had  told  her  of  her  fate  and  of  his  own  decision. 
"So  we  had  better  go  back  to  Plumstead,"  he  said;  and 
she  had  not  dissented. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  poor  Griselda's  sake,"  Mrs.  Grantly  had 
remarked  later  in  the  evening,  Avhen  they  were  again  to- 
gether. 

"  But  I  thought  she  was  to  remain  with  Lady  Lufton." 

"  Well,  so  she  will,  for  a  little  time.  There  is  no  one 
with  whom  I  Avould  so  soon  trust  her  out  of  my  own  care 
as  with  Lady  Lufton.     She  is  all  that  one  can  desire." 

"  Exactly ;  and,  as  far  as  Griselda  is  concerned,!  can  not 
say  that  I  think  she  is  to  be  pitied." 

"  Not  to  be  pitied,  perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly.  "  But, 
you  see,  archdeacon.  Lady  Lufton,  of  course,  has  her  own 
views." 

"Her  own  views?" 

"  It  is  hardly  any  secret  that  she  is  very  anxious  to  make 
a  match  between  Lord  Lufton  and  Griselda.  And  though 
that  might  be  a  very  proper  arrangement  if  it  were  fixed — " 

"  Lord  Lufton  marry  Griselda !"  said  the  archdeacon, 
speaking  quick  and  raising  his  eyebrows.  His  mind  had 
as  yet  been  troubled  by  but  few  thoughts  respecting  his 
child's  future  establishment.  "I  had  never  dreamed  of 
such  a  thing." 

"  But  other  people  have  done  more  than  dream  of  it, 
archdeacon.  As  regards  the  match  itself,  it  would,  I  think, 
be  unobjectionable.  Lord  Lufton  will  not  be  a  very  rich 
man,  but  his  property  is  respectable,  and,  as  far  as  J  can 
learn,  his  character  is  on  the  whole  cfood.    If  thev  like  ouch 


FUAMLKY    rAllSONAGK.  277 

Other,  I  should  be  contented  with  such  a  marriage.  But,  I 
must  own,  I  am.  not  quite  satisfied  at  the  idea  of  leaving 
her  all  alone  with  Lady  Lufton.  People  will  look  on  it  as 
a  settled  thing  when  it  is  not  settled,  and  very  probably 
may  not  be  settled,  and  that  will  do  the  poor  girl  harm. 
She  is  very  much  admired  ;  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  that; 
and  Lord  Dumbello — "  • 

The  archdeacon  opened  his  eyes  still  wider.  He  had  had 
no  idea  that  such  a  choice  of  sons-in-law  was  being  prepared 
for  him ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  was  almost  bewildered  by 
the  height  of  his  wife's  ambition.  Lord  Lufton,  with  his 
barony  and  twenty  thousand  a  year,  might  be  accepted  as 
just  good  enough ;  but,  failing  him,  there  was  an  embryo 
marquis,  whose  fortune  would  be  more  than  ten  times  as 
great,  all  ready  to  accept  his  child !  And  then  he  thought, 
as  husbands  sometimes  will  think,  of  Susan  Harding  as  she 
was  when  he  had  gone  a-courting  to  her  under  the  elms  be- 
fore the  house  in  the  warden's  garden  at  Barchester,  and 
of  dear  old  Mr.  Harding,  his  wife's  father,  who  still  lived  in 
humble  lodgings  in  that  city ;  and  as  he  thought,  he  won- 
dered at  and  admired  the  greatness  of  that  lady's  mind. 

"  I  never  can  forgive  Lord  De  Terrier,"  said  the  lady, 
connecting  various  points  together  in  her  own  mind. 

"That's  nonsense,"  said  the  archdeacon.  "You  must 
forgive  him." 

"  And  I  must  confess  that  it  annoys  me  to  leave  London 
at  present." 

«"It  can't  be  helped,"  said  the  archdeacon,  somewhat 
gruffly ;  for  he  was  a  man  who,  on  certain  points,  chose  to 
have  his  own  way,  and  had  it. 

"Oh  no,  I  know  it  can't  be  helped,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly, 
in  a  tone  which  implied  a  deep  injury.  "I  know  it  can't 
be  helped.     Poor  Griselda!"    And  then  they  went  to  bed. 

On  the  next  morning  Griselda  came  to  her,  and  in  an  in- 
terview that  was  strictly  private  her  mother  said  more  to 
her  than  she  had  ever  yet  spoken  as  to  the  prospects  of  her 
future  life.  Hitherto,  on  this  subject,  Mrs.  Grantly  had  said 
little  or  nothing.  She  would  have  been  well  pleased  that 
]\QY  daughter  should  have  received  the  incense  of  Lord  Luf- 
ton's  vows — or,  perhaps,  as  well  pleased  had  it  been  the  in- 
cense of  Lord  Dumbello's  vows — without  any  interference 
on  her  part.  In  such  case  her  child,  she  knew,  would  have 
told  her  with  quite  sufficient  eageimess,  and  the  matter  in 


278  FRAMLEY    TAKSONAGE. 

either  case  would  have  been  arranged  as  a  very  pretty  love- 
match.  She  had  no  fear  of  any  impropriety  or  of  any  rash- 
ness on  Griselda's  part.  She  had  thorouglily  known  her 
daughter  when  she  boasted  that  Griselda  would  never  in- 
dulge in  an  unauthorized  passion.  But  as  matters  now 
stood,  with  those  two  strings  to  her  bow,  and  with  that 
Lufton-Granily  alliance  treaty  in  existence — of  which  she, 
Griselda  herself,  knew  nothing — might  it  not  be  possible 
that  the  poor  child  might  stumble  through  want  of  ade- 
quate direction  ?  Guided  by  these  thoughts,  Mrs.  Grantly 
had  resolved  to  say  a  few  words  before  she  left  London. 
So  she  wrote  a  line  to  her  daughter,  and  Griselda  reached 
Mount  Street  at  two  o'clock  in  Lady  Lufton's  carriage, 
which,  during  the  interview,  waited  for  her  at  the  beer-shop 
round  the  corner. 

"And  papa  won't  be  Bishop  of  Westminster?"  said  the 
young  lady,  when  the  doings  of  the  Giants  had  been  suffi- 
ciently explained  to  make  her  understand  that  all  those 
hopes  were  over. 

"No,  my  dear;  at  any  rate,  not  now." 

"  What  a  shame !  I  thought  it  was  all  settled.  What's 
the  good,  mamma,  of  Lord  De  Terrier  being  prime  minis- 
ter, if  he  can't  make  whom  he  likes  a  bishop  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  that  Lord  De  Terrier  has  behaved  at  all 
well  to  your  father.  However,  that's  a  long  question,  and 
we  can't  go  into  it  now." 

"  How  glad  those  Proudies  will  be !" 

Griselda  would  have  talked  by  the  hour  on  this  subjegt 
had  her  mother  allowed  her,  but  it  was  necessary  that  Mrs. 
Grantly  should  go  to  other  matters.  She  began  about 
Lady  Lufton,  saying  what  a  dear  woman  her  ladyshij)  was ; 
and  then  went  on  to  say  that  Griselda  was  to  remain  in 
London  as  long  as  it  suited  her  friend  and  hostess  to  stay 
there  Avith  her;  but  added  that  this  might  probably  not 
be  very  long,  as  it  was  notorious  that  Lady  Lufton,  when 
in  London,  was  always  in  a  hurry  to  get  back  to  Framley. 

"  But  I  don't  think  she  is  in  such  a  hurry  this  year,  mam- 
ma," said  Griselda,  who  in  the  month  of  May  preferred 
Bruton  Street  to  Plumstead,  and  had  no  objection  what- 
ever to  the  coronet  on  the  panels  of  Lady  Lufton's  coach. 

And  then  Mrs.  Grantly  commenced  her  explanation — 
very  cautiously.  "  No,  my  dear,  I  dare  say  she  is  not  in 
such  a  hurry  this  year — that  is,  as  long  as  you  remain  with 
her." 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  279 

"  I  am  sure  she  is  very  kind." 

"  She  is  very  kind,  and  you  ought  to  love  her  very  much. 
I  know  I  do.  I  have  no  friend  in  the  world  for  whom  I 
have  a  greater  regard  than  for  Lady  Lufton.  It  is  that 
which  makes  me  so  happy  to  leave  you  with  her." 

"  All  the  same,  I  wish  that  you  and  papa  had  remained 
up — that  is,  if  they  had  made  papa  a  bishop." 

"  It's  no  good  thinking  of  that  now,  my  dear.  What  I 
particularly  wanted  to  say  to  you  was  this :  I  think  you 
should  know  what  are  the  ideas  which  Lady  Lufton  enter- 
tains." 

"Her  ideas!"  said  Griselda,  who  had  never  troubled 
lierself  much  in  thinking  about  other  people's  thoughts. 

"  Yes,  Griselda.  While  you  were  staying  down  at  Fram- 
ley  Court,  and  also,  I  suppose,  since  you  have  been  up  hero 
in  Bruton  Street,  you  must  have  seen  a  good  deal  of — Lord 
Lufton." 

"He  doesn't  come  very  often  to  Bruton  Street — that  is 
to  say,  not  very  often." 

"  H-m,"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Grantly,  very  gently.  She  would 
willingly  have  repressed  the  sound  altogether,  but  it  had 
been  too  mucli  for  her.  If  she  found  reason  to  think  that 
Lady  Lufton  was  playing  her  false,  she  would  immediately 
take  her  daughter  away,  break  up  the  treaty,  and  prepare 
for  the  Ilartletop  alliance.  Such  were  the  thoughts  that 
ran  through  her  mind.  But  she  knew  all  the  ^vliile  that 
Lady  Lufton  was  not  fiilse.  The  fault  was  not  with  Lady 
Lufton,  nor,  perhaps,  altogether  with  Lord  Lufton.  Mrs. 
Grantly  had  understood" the  full  force  of  the-  complaint 
which  Lady  Lufton  had  made  against  her  daughter ;  and 
though  she  had,  of  course,  defended  her  child,  and,  on  the 
whole,  had  defended  her  successfully,  yet  she  coniessed  to 
herself  that  Griselda's  chance  of  a  first-rate  establishment 
would  be  better  if  she  were  a  little  more  impulsive.  A 
man  does  not  wish  to  marry  a  statue,  let  the  statue  be  ever 
so  statuesque.  She  could  not  teach  her  daughter  to  be 
impulsive  any  more  than  she  could  teach  her  to  be  six  feet 
high  ;  but  might  it  not  be  possible  to  teach  her  to  seem  so  ? 
The  task  was  a  very  delicate  one,  even  for  a  mother's  hand. 

"Of  course  he  can  not  be  at  home  now  as  much  as  he 
was  down  in  the  country,  when  he  was  living  in  the  samfi 
house,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly,  whose  business  it  was  to  take 
Lord  Lufton's  part  at  the  present  moment.     "He  must 


280  PKAMLEY  PAKSONAGE. 

be  at  his  club,  and  at  tlie  House  of  Lords,  and  in  twenty 
places." 

"He  is  very  fond  of  going  to  parties,  and  he  dances 
beautifully." 

"I  am  sure  he  does.  I  have  seen  as  much  as  that  ray- 
self,  and  I  think  I  know  some  one  wdth  whom  he  likes  to 
dance."  And  the  mother  gave  her  daughter  a  loving  little 
squeeze. 

"  Do  you  mean  me,  mamma  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  do  mean  you,  my  dear.  And  is  it  not  true  ? 
Lady  Lufton  says  that  he  likes  dancing  with  you  better 
than  with  any  one  else  in  London." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Griselda,  looking  down  upon  the 
ground. 

Mrs.  Grantly  thought  that  this,  upon  the  whole,  w^as 
rather  a  good  opening.  It  might  have  been  better.  Some 
point  of  interest  more  serious  in  its  nature  than  that  of  a 
waltz  might  have  been  found  on  which  to  connect  her 
daughter's  sympathies  with  those  of  her  future  husband. 
But  any  point  of  interest  was  better  than  none;  and  it  is 
so  difficult  to  find  points  of  interest  in  persons  who  by  their 
nature  are  not  impulsive. 

"Lady  Lufton  says  so,  at  any  rate,"  continued  Mrs. 
Grantly,  ever  so  cautiously.  "  She  thinks  that  Lord  Luf- 
ton likes  no  partner  better.  What  do  you  think  yourself. 
Griselda?" 

"  I  don't  know,  mamma." 

"  But  young  ladies  must  think  of  sucli  things,  must  they 
not?" 

"  Must  they,  mamma  ?" 

"  I  suppose  they  dp,  don't  they  ?  Thje  truth  is,  Griselda, 
that  Lady  Lufton  thinks  that  if —  Can  you  guess  what  it 
is  she  thinks  ?" 

"  No,  mamma."     But  that  was  a  fib  on  Griselda's  part. 

"  She  thinks  that  my  Griselda  would  make  the  best  pos- 
sible wife  in  the  world  for  her  son  ;  and  I  think  so  too.  I 
think  that  her  son  will  be  ?.  very  fortunate  man  if  he  can 
get  such  a  wife.     And  now  w^hat  do  you  think,  Griselda?" 

"  I  don't  think  any  thing,  mamma." 

But  that  would  not  do.  It  was  absolutely  necessary  that 
she  should  think,  and  absolutely  necessary  that  her  mother 
should  tell  her  so.  Such  a  degree  of  unimpulsivness  as  this 
would  lead  to  -—  heaven   knows    what   results !     Lufton- 


FUAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  281 

Grantly  treaties  and  Hartletop  interests  would  be  all  thrown 
away  upon  a  young  lady  who  would  not  think  any  thing 
of  a  noble  suitor  sighing  for  her  smiles.  Besides,  it  was 
not  natural.  Griselda,  as  her  mother  knew,  had  never  been 
a  girl  of  headlong  feeling,  but  still  she  had  had  her  likes 
and  her  dislikes.  In  that  matter  of  the  bishopric  she  was 
keen  enough,  and  no  one  could  evince  a  deeper  interest  in 
the  subject  of  a  well-made  new  dress  than  Griselda  Grant- 
ly. It  was  not  possible  that  she  should  be  indifferent  as  to 
her  future  prospects,  and  she  must  know  that  those  pros- 
pects depended  mainly  on  her  marriage.  Her  mother  was 
almost  angry  with  her,  but  nevertheless  she  went  on  very 
gently ; 

"You  don't  think  any  thing!  But,  my  darling,  you 
must  think.  You  must  make  up  your  mind  what  would 
be  your  answer  if  Lord  Lufton  were  to  propose  to  you. 
That  is  what  Lady  Lufton  wishes  him  to  do." 

"  But  he  never  will,  mamma." 

"And  if  he  did?" 

"  But  I'm  sure  he  never  will.  He  doesn't  think  of  such 
a  thing  at  all — and — and — " 

"  And  what,  my  dear  ?" 

"I  don't  know, mamma." 

"  Surely  you  can  speak  out  to  me,  dearest.  All  I  care 
about  is  your  happiness.  Both  Lady  Lufton  and  I  think 
that  it  would  be  a  happy  marriage  if  you  both  cared  for 
each  other  enough.  She  thinks  that  he  is  fond  of  you. 
But  if  he  were  ten  times  Lord  Lufton  I  would  not  tease 
you  about  it  if  I  thought  that  you  could  not  learn  to  care 
about  him.    What  was  it  you  were  going  to  say,  my  dear?" 

"  Lord  Lufton  thinks  a  great  deal  more  of  Lucy  Robarts 
than  he  does  of — of — of  any  one  else,  I  believe,"  said  Gri- 
selda, showing  now  some  little  animation  by  her  manner, 
"  dumpy  little  black  thing  that  she  is." 

"  Lucy  Robarts !"  said  Mrs.  Grantly,  taken  by  surprise 
at  finding  that  her  daughter  was  moved  by  such  a  passion 
as  jealousy,  and  feeling  also  perfectly  assured  that  there 
could  not  be  any  possible  ground  for  jealousy  in  such  a 
direction  as  that.  "  Lucy  Robarts,  my  dear !  I  don't  sup- 
pose Lord  Lufton  ever  thought  of  speaking  to  her  except 
in  the  Avay  of  civility." 

"Yes  he  did, mamma.  Don't  you  remember  at  Fram- 
lev?" 


282  FRAMLEY   P  ARSON  AGE* 

Mrs.  Grantly  began  to  look  back  in  her  mind,  and  she 
thought  she  did  remember  having  once  observed  Lord 
Lufton  talking  in  rather  a  confidential  manner  with  the 
parson's  sister.  But  she  was  sure  that  there  was  nothing 
in  it.  If  that  was  the  reason  why  Griselda  was  so  cold  to 
her  proposed  lover,  it  would  be  a  thousand  pities  that  it 
should  not  be  removed. 

"  Now  you  mention  her,  I  do  remember  the  young  lady," 
said  Mrs.  Grantly ;  "  a  dark  girl,  very  low,  and  without 
much  figure.  She  seemed  to  me  to  keep  very  much  in  the 
background." 

"I  don't  know  much  about  that,  mamma." 

"  As  fiir  as  I  saw  her,  she  did.  But,  my  dear  Griselda, 
you  should  not  allow  yourself  to  think  of  such  a  thing. 
Lord  Lufton,  of  course,  is  bound  to  be  civil  to  any  young 
lady  in  hi-s  mother's  house,  and  I  am  quite  sure  that  he  has 
no  other  idea  whatever  with  regard  to  Miss  Robarts.  I 
certainly  can  not  speak  as  to  her  intellect,  for  I  do  not 
think  she  opened  her  mouth  in  my  presence  ;  but — " 

"  Oh !  she  has  plenty  to  say  for  herself,  w^hen  she  pleases. 
She's  a  sly  little  thing." 

"  But,  at  any  rate,  my  dear,  she  has  no  personal  attrac- 
tions whatever,  and  I  do  not  at  all  think  that  Lord  Lufton 
is  a  man  to  be  taken  by — by — by  any  thing  that  Miss 
Robarts  might  do  or  say." 

As  those  words  "personal  attractions"  were  uttered, 
Griselda  managed  so  to  turn  her  neck  as  to  catch  a  side 
view  of  herself  in  one  of  the  mirrors  on  the  wall,  and  then 
she  bridled  herself  up,  and  made  a  little  play  with  her  eyes, 
and  looked,  as  her  mother  thought,  very  well.  "It  is  all 
nothing  to  me,  mamma,  of  course,"  she  said. 

"Well,  my  dear,  perhaps  not.  I  don't  say  that  it  is.  I 
do  not  wish  to  put  the  slightest  constraint  upon  your  feel- 
ings. If  I  did  not  have  the  most  thorough  dependence  on 
your  good  sense  and  high  principles,  I  should  not  speak  to 
you  in  this  way.  But  as  I  have,  I  thought  it  best  to  tell 
you  that  both  Lady  Lufton  and  I  should  be  well  pleased  if 
we  thought  that  you  and  Lord  Lufton  were  fond  of  each 
other." 

"  I  am  sure  he  never  thinks  of  such  a  thing,  mamma." 

"And  as  for  Lucy  Robarts,  pray  get  that  idea  out  of 
your  head ;  if  not  for  your  sake,  then  for  his.  You  should 
C'ive  him  credit  for  better  taste." 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  283 

But  it  was  not  easy  to  take  any  thing  out  of  Griselda's 
head  that  she  had  once  taken  into  it.  "As  for  tastes, 
mamma,  there  is  no  accounting  for  them,"  she  said ;  and 
then  the  colloquy  on  that  subject  was  over.  The  result  of 
it  on  Mrs.  Grantly's  mind  was  a  feeling  amounting  almost 
to  a  conviction  in  favor  of  the  Dumbello  interest. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

IMPULSIVE. 


I  TRUST  my  readers  will  all  remember  how  Puck  the  pony 
was  beaten  during  that  drive  to  Hogglestock.  It  may  be 
presumed  that  Puck  himself,  on  that  occasion,  did  not  suf- 
fer much.  His  skin  was  not  so  soft  as  Mrs.  Robarts's 
heart.  The  little  beast  was  full  of  oats  and  all  the  good 
things  of  this  w^orld,  and  therefore,  when  the  whij)  touched 
him,  he  would  dance  about  and  shake  his  little  ears,  and 
run  on  at  a  tremendous  pace  for  twenty  yards,  making  his 
mistress  think  that  he  had  endured  terrible  things;  But, 
in  truth,  during  those  whippings  Puck  Avas  not  the  chief 
suiferer. 

Lucy  had  been  forced  to  declare — forced  by  the  strength 
of  her  own  feelings,  and  by  the  impossibility  of  assenting 
to  the  propriety  of  a  marriage  between  Lord  Lufton  and 

Miss  Grantly ,  she  had  been  forced  to  declare  that  shq 

did  care  about  Lord  Lufton  as  much  as  though  he  were 
her  brother.  She  had  said  all  this  to  herself — nay,  much 
more  than  this — very  often.  But  now  she  had  said  it  out 
loud  to  her  sister-in-law ;  and  she  knew  that  what  she  had 
said  w^as  remembered,  considered,  and  had,  to  a  certain  ex- 
tent, become  the  cause  of  altered  conduct.  Fanny  alluded 
very  seldom  to  the  Luftons  in  casual  conversation,  and 
never  spoke  about  Lord  Lufton  unless  when  her  hnsband 
made  it  impossible  that  she  should  not  speak  of  him.  Lucy 
had  attempted  on  more  than  one  occasion  to  remedy  this 
by  talking  about  the  young  lord  in  a  laughing  and,  per- 
haps, half  jeering  way ;  she  had  been  sarcastic  as  to  his 
hunting  and  shooting,  and  had  boldly  attempted  to  say  a 
word  in  joke  about  his  love  for  Griselda.  But  she  felt  that 
she  had  failed ;  that  she  had  failed  altogether  as  regarded 
Fanny ;  and  that  as  to  her  brother,  she  would  more  prob- 
ably be  tlie  means  of  opening  his  eyes  than  have  any  ofiect 


284  FBAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

in  keeping  them  closed.  So  she  gave  up  her  efforts,  and 
spoke  no  farther  word  about  Lord  Lufton.  Her  secret 
had  been  told,  and  she  knew  that  it  had  been  told. 

At  this  time  the  two  ladies  w^ere  left  a  great  deal  alone 
together  in  the  drawing-room  at  the  Parsonage — more, 
perha23S,  than  had  ever  yet  been  the  case  since  Lucy  had 
been  there.  Lady  Lufton  was  away,  and  therefore  the  al- 
most daily  visit  to  Framley  Court  was  not  made;  and 
Mark,  in  these  days,  was  a  great  deal  at  Barchester,  hav- 
ing, no  doubt,  very  onerous  duties  to  perform  before  he 
could  be  admitted  as  one  of  that  chapter.  He  went  into 
what  he  was  pleased  to  call  residence  almost  at  once — 
that  is,  he  took  his  month  of  preaching,  aiding  also  in  some 
slight  and  very  dignified  way  in  the  general  Sunday  morn- 
ing services.  He  did  not  exactly  live  at  Barchester,  be- 
cause the  house  was  not  ready.  That,  at  least,  was  the 
assumed  reason.  The  chattels  of  Dr.  Stanhope,  the  late 
prebendary,  had  not  been  as  yet  removed,  and  there  was 
likely  to  be  some  little  delay,  creditors  asserting  their  right 
to  them.  This  might  have  been  very  inconvenient  to  a 
gentleman  anxiously  exj^ecting  the  excellent  house  which 
the  liberality  of  past  ages  had  j^rovided  for  his  use,  but  it 
was  not  so  felt  by  Mr.  Robarts.  If  Dr.  Stanhope's  family 
or  creditors  would  keep  the  house  for  the  next  twelve 
months,  he  would  be  well  pleased.  And  by  this  arrange- 
ment he  was  enabled  to  get  through  his  first  month  of  ab- 
sence from  the  church  of  Framley  without  any  notice  from 
Lady  Lufton,  seeing  that  Lady  Lufton  Avas  in  London  all 
the  time.  This  also  was  convenient,  and  taught  our  young 
prebendary  to  look  on  his  new  preferment  more  favorably 
than  he  had  hitherto  done. 

Fanny  and  Lucy  Avere  thus  left  much  alone;  and  as  out 
of  the  full  head  the  mouth  speaks,  so  is  the  full  heart  more 
prone  to  speak  at  such  periods  of  confidence  as  these. 
Lucy,  Avhen  she  first  thought  of  her  OAvn  state,  determined 
to  endow  herself  Avith  a  poAverful  gift  of  reticence..  She 
Avould  never  tell  her  love,  certainly,  but  neither  Avould  she 
let  concealment  feed  on  her  damask  cheek,  nor  Avould  she 
ever  be  found  for  a  moment  sitting  like  Patience  on  a 
monument.  She  Avould  fight  her  OAvn  fight  bravely  Avithin 
her  own  bosom,  and  conquer  her  enemy  altogether.  She 
Avould  either  preach,  or  starve,  or  Aveary  her  love  into  sub- 
jection, and  no  one  should  be  a  bit  the  Aviser.     She  Avonld 


FBAMLEY    PAESOKAGE.  285 

teach  herself  to  shake  hands  with  Lord  Luftou  without  a 
quiver,  and  would  be  prepared  to  like  his  wife  amazingly 
— unless,  indeed,  that  wife  should  be  Griselda  Grantly. 
Such  were  her  resolutions ;  but,  at  the  end  of  the  first 
week,  they  were  broken  into  sliivers  and  scattered  to  the 
winds. 

They  had  been  sitting  in  the  house  together  the  "vvhole 
of  one  wet  day ;  and  as  Mark  was  to  dine  in  Barchester 
with  the  dean,  they  had  had  dinner  early,  eating  with  the 
children  almost  in  their  laps.  It  is  so  that  ladies  do  when 
their  husbands  leave  them  to  themselves.  It  was  getting 
dusk  toward  evening,  and  they  were  still  sitting  in  the 
drawing-room,  the  children  now  having  retired,  when  Mrs. 
Robarts,  for  the  fifth  time  since  her  visit  to  Hogglestock, 
began  to  express  her  wish  that  she  could  do  some  good  to 
the  Crawleys — to  Grace  Crawley  in  particular,  Avho,  stand- 
ing up  there  at  her  father's  elbow,  learning  Greek  irregu- 
lar verbs,  had  appeared  to  Mrs.  Robarts  to  be  an  especial 
object  of  pity. 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  set  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts. 

Now  any  allusion  to  that  visit  to  Hogglestock  always  drove 
Lucy's  mind  back  to  the  consideration  of  the  subject  wliich 
had  most  occupied  it  at  the  time.  She  at  such  moments 
remembered  how  she  had  beaten  Puck,  and  how,  in  her 
half  bantering  but  still  too  serious  manner,  she  had  apolo- 
gized for  doing  so,  and  had  explained  the  reason,  and 
therefore  she  did  not  interest  herself  about  Grace  Crawley 
as  vividly  as  she  should  have  done. 

"  No,  one  never  does,"  she  said. 

"  I  w^as  thinking  about  it  all  that  day  as  I  drove  home," 
said  Fanny.  "  The  difticulty  is  this :  What  can  we  do  with 
her  ?" 

"  Exactly,"  said  Lucy,  remembering  the  very  point  of 
the  road  at  which  she  had  declared  that  she  did  like  Lord 
Lufton  very  much. 

"  If  we  could  have  her  here  for  a  month  or  so,  and  then 
send  her  to  school — but  I  know  Mr.  Crawley  would  not 
allow  us  to  pay  for  her  schooling." 

"  I  don't  think  he  would,"  said  Lucy,  with  her  thoughts 
far  removed  from  Mr.  Crawley  and  his  daughter  Grace. 

"  And  then  we  should  not  know  Avhat  to  do  with  her — 
should  Ave?" 

"  No,  you  would  not." 


286  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

"It  would  never  do  to  have  the  poor  girl  about  the 
house  here,  Avith  no  one  to  teach  her  any  thing.  Mark 
would  not  teach  her  Greek  verbs,  you  know." 

"  I  suppose  not." 

"Lucy,  you  are  not  attending  to  a  Avord  I  say  to  you, 
and  I  don't  think  you  have  for  the  last  hour.  I  don't  be- 
lieve you  know  what  I  am  talking  about." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  do — Grace  Crawley.  I'll  try  and  teach  her 
if  you  like,  only  I  don't  know  any  thing  myself." 

"  That's  not  Avhat  I  mean  at  all,  and  you  know  I  would 
not  ask  you  to  take  such  a  task  as  that  on  yourself;  but  I 
do  think  you  might  talk  it  over  with  me." 

"Might  I?  very  well,  I  will.  What  is  it?  oh,  Grace 
Crawley — you  want  to  know  who  is  to  teach  her  the  ir- 
regular Greek  verbs.  Oh  dear,  Fanny,  my  head  does  ache 
so :  pray  don't  be  angry  with  me."  And  then  Lucy, 
throwing  herself  back  on  the  sofa,  put  one  hand  up  pain- 
fully to  her  forehead,  and  altogether  gave  up  the  battle. 

Mrs.  Robarts  was  by  her  side  in  a  moment.  "  Dearest 
Lucy,  what  is  it  makes  your  head  ache  so  often  now  ?  you 
used  not  to  have  those  headaches." 

"It's  because  I'm  growing  stupid — never  mind.  We 
will  go  on  about  poor  Grace.  It  would  not  do  to  have  a 
governess,  would  it  ?" 

"I  can  see  that  you  are  not  well,  Lucy,"  said  Mrs.  Ro- 
barts, with  a  look  of  deep  concern.  "  What  is  it,  dearest? 
I  can  see  that  something  is  the  matter." 

"Something  the  matter!  Xo,  there's  not — nothing 
worth  talking  of.  Sometimes  I  think  I'll  go  back  to  Dev- 
onshire and  live  there.  I  could  stay  with  Blanche  for  a 
time,  and  then  get  a  lodging  in  Exeter." 

"  Go  back  to  Devonshire  !"  and  Mrs.  Robarts  looked 
as  though  she  thought  her  sister-in-law  was  going  mad. 
"Why  do  you  want  to  go  away  from  us?  This  is  to  be 
your  own,  own  home,  always  now." 

"Is  it?  Then  I  am  in  a  bad  way.  Oh  dear,  oh  dear, 
what  a  fool  I  am!  What  an  idiot  I've  been!  Fanny,  1 
don't  think  I  can  stay  here ;  and  I  do  so  wish  I'd  never 
come.  I  do — I  do — I  do,  though  you  look  at  me  so  hor- 
ribly;" and,  jumping  up,  she  threw  herself  into  her  sister- 
in-law's  arms  and  began  kissing  her  violently.  "  Don't 
pretend  to  be  wounded,  for  you  know  that  I  love  you. 
You  know  that  I  could  live  with  you  all  my  life,  and  think 
you  were  perfect — as  you  are ;  but — " 


FRAMLEY    TAHSONAGE.  287 

"  Has  Mark  said  any  thing  ?" 

"  Not  a  woi-d — not  a  ghost  of  a  syllable.  It  is  not  Mark 
— oh,  Fanny !" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Ro- 
barts,  in  a  low,  tremulous  voice,  and  with  deep  sorrow 
painted  on  her  face. 

"  Of  course  you  do — of  course  you  know ;  you  have 
known  it  all  along — since  that  day  in  the  pony  carriage. 
I  knew  that  you  knew  it.  You  do  not  dare  to  mention 
his  name ;  would  not  that  tell  me  that  you  know  it  ?  And 
I — I  am  hypocrite  enough  for  Mark,  but  my  hypocrisy 
won't  pass  muster  before  you.  And,  now,  had  I  not  bet- 
ter go  to  Devonshire  ?" 

"  Dearest,  dearest  Lucy." 

"Was  I  not  right  about  that  labeling?  Oh  heavens! 
what  idiots,  we  girls  are !  That  a  dozen  soft  words  should 
have  bowled  over  me  like  a  ninepin,  and  left  me  without 
an  inch  of  ground  to  call  my  own.  And  I  was  so  proud 
of  my  own  strength ;  so  sure  that  I  should  never  be  miss- 
ish,  and  spoony,  and  sentimental !  I  was  so  determined  to 
like  him  as  Mark  does,  or  you — " 

" I  shall  not  like  him  at  all  if  he  has  spoken  Mords  to 
you  that  he  should  not  have  spoken." 

"  But  he  has  not."  And  then  she  stopped  a  moment  to 
consider.  "  No,  he  has  not.  He  never  said  a  word  to  me 
that  would  make  you  angry  with  him  if  you  knew  of  it — 
except,  perhaps,  that  he  called  me  Lucy,  and  that  Avas  my 
fault,  not  his." 

"Because  you  talked  of  soft  words." 

"  Fanny,  you  have  no  idea  what  an  absolute  fool  I  am — 
what  an  unutterable  ass.  The  soft  words  of  Avhich  I  tell 
you  were  of  the  kind  which  he  speaks  to  you  Avheri  he  asks 
you  how  the  cow  gets  on  which  he  sent  you  from  L-eland, 
or  to  Mark  about  Ponto's  shoulder.  He  told  me  that  he 
knew  papa,  and  that  he  was  at  school  with  Mark,  and  that, 
as  he  was  such  good  friends  with  you  here  at  the  parson- 
age, he  must  be  good  friends  with  me  too.  No,  it  has  not 
been  his  fault.  The  soft  words  which  did  the  mischief 
were  such  as  those.  But  how  well  his  mother  understood 
the  world !  In  order  to  have  been  safe,  I  should  not  have 
dared  to  look  at  him." 

"  But,  dearest  Lucy — " 

"I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say,  and  I  admit  it  all. 


288  FEAMLEY    PAKSONAGE. 

He  is  no  hero.  There  is  nothing  on  earth  wonderful  about 
him.  I  never  heard  him  say  a  single  word  of  wisdom,  or 
utter  a  thought  that  was  akin  to  poetry.  He  devotes  all 
his  energies  to  riding  after  a  fox  or  killing  poor  birds,  and 
I  never  heard  of  his  doing  a  single  great  action  in  my  life. 
And  yet—" 

Fanny  was  so  astounded  by  the  way  her  sister-in-law 
Avent  on  that  she  hardly  knew  how  to  speak.  "  He  is  an 
excellent  son,  I  believe,"  at  last  she  said — 

"  Except  when  he  goes  to  Gatherum  Castle.  I'll  tell  you 
what  he  has :  he  has  fine  straight  legs,  and  a  smooth  fore- 
head, and  a  good-humored  eye,  and  white  teeth.  Was  it 
possible  to  see  such  a  catalogue  of  perfections,  and  not  fall 
down,  stricken  to  the  very  bone  ?  But  it  was  not  that  that 
did  it  all,  Fanny.  I  could  have  stood  against  that.  I  think 
I  could,  at  least.  It  was  his  title  that  killed  me.  1  had 
never  spoken  to  a  lord  before.  Oh  me !  what  a  fool,  what 
a  beast  I  have  been!"     And  then  she  burst  out  into  tears. 

Mrs.  Robarts,  to  tell  the  truth,  could  hardly  understand 
poor  Lucy's  ailment.  It  was  evident  enough  that  her  mis- 
ery was  real,  but  yet  she  spoke  of  herself  and  her  sufferings 
with  so  much  irony,  with  so  near  an  approach  to  joking, 
that  it  was  very  hard  to  tell  hoAV  far  she  was  in  earnest. 
Lucy,  too,  was  so  much  given  to  a  species  of  badinage 
which  Mrs.  Robarts  did  not  always  quite  understand,  that 
the  latter  was  afraid  sometimes  to  speak  out  what  came 
uppermost  to  her  tongue.  But  now  that  Lucy  w^as  abso- 
lutely in  tears,  and  was  almost  breathless  with  excitement, 
she  could  not  remain  silent  any  longer.  "Dearest  Lucy, 
pray  do  not  speak  in  that  way;  it  will  all  come  right. 
Things  always  do  come  right  when  no  one  has  acted 
wrongly." 

"Yes,  when  nobody  has  done  Avrongly.  That's  what 
papa  used  to  call  begging  the  question.  But  I'll  tell  you 
what,  Fanny,  I  will  not  be  beaten.  I  will  either  kill  my- 
self or  get  through  it.  I  am  so  heartily  self-ashamed  that 
I  owe  it  to  myself  to  fight  the  battle  out." 

"To  fight  what  battle,  dearest?" 

"This  battle.  Here,  now,  at  the  present  moment,  I 
could  not  meet  Lord  Lufton.  I  should  have  to  run  like  a 
scared  fowl  if  he  were  to  show  himself  within  the  gate, 
and  I  should  not  dare  to  go  out  of  the  house  if  I  knew  that 
he  was  in  the  parish."  -    . 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  289 

"I  don't  sec  that,  for  I  am  sure  you  have  not  betrayed 
yourself." 

"  Well,  no ;  as  for  myself,  I  believe  I  have  done  the  lymg 
and  the  hypocrisy  pretty  well.  But,  dearest  Fanny,  you 
don't  know  half;  and  you  can  not  and  must  not  know." 

"  But  I  thought  you  said  there  had  been  nothing  what- 
ever between  you." 

"  Did  I  ?  Well,  to  you  I  have  not  said  a  word  that  was 
not  true.  I  said  that  he  had  spoken  nothing  that  it  was 
wrong  for  him  to  say.  It  could  not  be  wrong — But  never 
mind.  I'll  tell  you  what  I  mean  to  do.  I  have  been  think- 
ing of  it  for  the  last  week — only  I  shall  have  to  tell  Mark." 

"  If  I  were  you,  I  would  tell  him  alf." 

"  What,  Mark !  If  you  do,  Fanny,  I'll  never,  never,  nev- 
er speak  to  you  again.  Would  you,  when  I  have  given 
you  all  my  heart  in  true  sisterly  love  ?" 

Mrs.  Robarts  had  to  explain  that  she  had  not  proposed 
to  tell  any  thing  to  Mark  lierself,  and  was  persuaded,  more- 
over, to  give  a  solemn  promise  that  she  would  not  tell  any 
thing  to  him  unless  specially  authorized  to  d6  so. 

"  I'll  go  into  a  home,  I  think,"  continued  Lucy.  "  You 
know  what  those  homes  are  ?"  Mrs.  Robarts  assured  her 
that  she  knew  very  well,  and  then  Lucy  went  on :  "A 
year  ago  I  should  have  said  that  I  was  the  last  girl  in  En- 
gland to  think  of  such  a  life,  but  I  do  believe  now  that  it 
would  be  the  best  thing  for  me.  And  then  I'll  starve  my- 
self, and  flog  myself,  and  in  that  way  I'll  get  back  my  own 
mind. and  my  own  soul." 

"  Your  OAvn  soul,  Lucy !"  said  Mrs.  Kobarts,  in  a  tone  of 
horror. 

"  Well,  my  own  heart,  if  yon  like  it  better ;  but  I  hate 
to  hear  myself  talking  about  hearts.  I  don't  care  for  my 
heart.  I'd  let  it  go — with  this  young  popinjay  lord  or  any 
one  else,  so  that  I  could  read,  and  talk,  and  walk,  and 
sleep,  and  eat,  without  always  feeling  that  I  was  wrong 
here — ^liere— here,"  and  she  pressed  her  hand  vehemently 
against  her  side.  "What  is  it  that  I  feel,  Fanny?  Why 
am  I  so  weak  in  body  that  I  can  not  take  exercise  ?  Why 
can  not  I  keep  my  mind  on  a  book  for  one  moment  ?  Why 
can  I  not  write  two  sentences  together  ?  Why  should  ev- 
ery mouthful  that  I  eat  stick  in  my  throat?  Oh,  Fanny, 
is  it  his  legs,  think  you,  or  is  it  his  title  ?" 

Througli  ail  her  sorrow — and  she  was  very  sorrowful — 
N 


290  FBAMLEY    PAKSONAGE. 

Mrs.  Kobarts  could  not  help  smiling.  And,  indeed,  there 
Avas  every  now  and  then  something  even  in  Lucy's  look 
that  was  almost  comic.  She  acted  the  irony  so  Avell  with 
which  she  strove  to  throw  ridicule  on  herself!  *'Do  laugh 
at  me,"  she  said.  "  Nothing  on  earth  will  do  me  so  much 
good  as  that — nothing,  unless  it  be  starvation  and  a  whip. 
If  you  would  only  tell  me  that  I  must  be  a  sneak  and  an 
idiot  to  care  for  a  man  because  he  is  good-looking  and  a 
lord!" 

"But  that  has  not  been  the  reason.  There  is  a  great 
deal  more  in  Lord  Lufton  than  that;  and,  since  I  must 
speak,  dear  Lucy,  I  pan  not  but  say  that  I  should  not  won- 
der at  your  being  in  love  with  him,  only — only  that — " 

"  Only  what  ?  Come,  out  with  it.  Do  not  mince  mat- 
ters, or  think  that  I  shall  be  angry  with  you  because  you 
scold  me." 

"  Only  that  I  should  have  thought  that  you  would  have 
been  too  guarded  to  have — have  cared  for  any  gentleman 
till — till  he  had  shown  that  he  cared  for  you." 

"  Guarded !  Yes,  that's  it ;  that's  just  the  word.  But 
it's  he  that  should  have  been  guarded.  He  should  have 
had  a  fire-guard  hung  before  him — or  a  love-guard,  if  you 
will.  Guarded !  Was  I  not  guarded,  till  you  all  would 
drag  me  out  ?  Did  I  want  to  go  there  ?  And  when  I  was 
there,  did  I. not  make  a  fool  of  myself,  sitting  in  a  corner, 
and  thinking  how  much  better  placed  I  should  have  been 
down  in  the  servants'  hall.  Lady  Lufton — she  dragged 
me  out,  and  then  cautioned  me,  and  then,  then — Why  is 
Lady  Lufton  to  have  it  all  her  own  way  ?  Why  am  I  to  be 
sacrificed  for  her  ?  I  did  not  want  to  know  Lady  Lufton, 
or  any  one  belonging  to  her." 

"  I  can  not  think  that  you  have  any  cause  to  blame  Lady 
Lufton,  nor,  perhaps,  to  blame  any  body  very  much." 

"  Well,  no,  it  has  been  all  my  own  fault ;  though,  for  the 
life  of  me,  Fanny,  going  back  and  back,  I  can  not  see  where 
I  took  the  first  false  step.  I  do  not  know  where  I  went 
wrong.  One  wrong  thing  I  did,  and  it  is  the  only  thing 
that  I  do  not  regret." 

"  What  was  that,  Lucy  ?" 

"I  told  him  a  lie." 

Mrs.  Robarts  was  altogether  in  the  dark,  and  feeling 
that  she  was  so,  she  Icnew  that  she  could  not  give  counsel 
as  a  friend  or  a  sister.     Lucy  had  begun  by  declaring— so 


FKAMLEY    PAKSONAGE.  291 

Mrs.  Robavts  thought — that  nothhig  had  passed  between 
her  and  Lord  Lufton  but  words  of  most  trivial  import,  and 
yet  she  now  accused  herself  of  falsehood,  and  declared  that 
that  falsehood  was  the  only  thing  Avhich  she  did  not  re- 
gret ! 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts.  "  If  you  did,  you  were 
very  unlike  yourself" 

"But  I  did,  and,  were  he  here  again,  speaking  to  me  in 
the  same  way,  I  should  repeat  it.  I  know  I  should.  If  I 
did  not,  I  should  have  all  the  world  on  me.  You  would 
frown  on  me,  and  be  cold.  My  darling  Fanny,  how  would 
you  look  if  I  really  displeasured  you  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  you  will  do  that,  Lucy  ?" 

"  But  if  I  told  him  the  truth  I  should,  should  I  not  ? 
Speak,  now.  But  no,  Fanny,  you  need  not  speak.  It  was 
not  the  fear  of  you,  no,  nor  even  of  her,  though  Heaven 
knows  that  her  terrible  glumness  would  be  quite  unen- 
durable." 

"  I  can  not  understand  you,  Lucy.  What  truth  or  what 
untruth  can  you  have  told  him  if,  as  you  say,  there  has 
been  nothing  between  you  but  ordinary  conversation  ?" 

Lucy  then  got  up  from  the  sofa  and  walked  twice  the 
length  of  the  room  before  she  spoke.  Mrs.  Robarts  had 
all  the  ordinary  curiosity — I  was  going  to  say  of  a  woman, 
but  I  mean  to  say  of  humanity,  and  she  had,  moreover,  all 
the  love  of  a  sister.  She  was  both  curious  and  anxious, 
and  remained  sitting  where  she  was,  silent,  and  with  licr 
eyes  fixed  on  her  companion. 

"  Did  I  say  so  ?"  Lucy  said  at  last.  "  No,  Fanny,  you 
have  mistaken  me;  I  did  not  say  that.  Ah!  yes,  about 
the  cow  and  the  dog.  All  that  was  true.  I  was  telling 
you  of  what  his  soft  words  had  been  while  I  was  becoming 
such  a  fool.     Since  that  he  has  said  more." 

"  What  more  has  he  said,  Lucy  ?" 

"  I  yearn  to  tell  you,  if  only  I  can  trust  you ;"  and  Lucy 
knelt  down  at  the  feet  of  Mrs.  Robarts,  looking  up  into  her 
face  and  smiling  through  the  remaining  drops  of  her  tears. 
"  I  would  fain  tell  you,"but  I  do  not  know  you  yet — wheth- 
er you  are  quite  true.  I  could  be  true — true  against  all 
the  world,  if  my  friend  told  me.  I  will  tell  you,  Fanny,  if 
you  say  that  you  can  be  true.  But  if  you  doubt  yourself, 
if  you  must  whisper  all  to  Mark,  then  let  us  be  silent." 

There  was  something  almost  awful  in  this  to  Mrs.  Ro- 


292  *  fra:mley  parsonage. 

barts.  Hitherto,  since  their  marriage,  hardly  a  thought 
had  passed  through  her  mind  which  sha  had  not  shared 
Avith  her  husband.  But  now  all  this  had  come  upon  her 
so  suddenly  that  she  was  imable  to  think  whether  it  would 
be  well  that  she  should  become  the  depositary  of  such  a 
secret — not  to  be  mentioned  to  Lucy's  brother,  not  to  be 
mentioned  to  her  own  husband.  But  who  ever  yet  was 
offered  a  secret  and  declined  it?  Who,  at  least,  ever  de- 
clined a  love  secret?  What  sister  could  do  so?  Mrs. 
Robarts  therefore  gave  the  promise,  smoothing  Lucy's  hair 
as  she  did  so,  and  kissing  her  forehead  and  looking  into 
her  eyes,  which,  like  a  rainbow,  were  the  brighter  for  her 
tears.     "  And  what  has  he  said  to  you,  Lucy  ?" 

"  What  ?     Only  this,  that  he  asked  me  to  be  his  wife." 

"  Lord  Lufton  proposed  to  you  ?" 

"  Yes ;  proposed  to  me !  It  is  not  credible,  is  it  ?  You 
can  not  bring  yourself  to  believe  that  such  a  thing  happen- 
ed, can  you?"  And  Lucy  rose  again  to  her  feet  as  the 
idea  of  the  scorn  with  which  she  felt  that  others  would 
treat  her — Avith  Avhich  she  herself  treated  herself— made 
the  blood  rise  to  her  cheek.  "And  yet  it  is  not  a  dream. 
I  think  that  it  is  not  a  dream.     I  think  that  he  really  did." 

"Think,  Lucy!" 

"  Well,  I  may  say  that  I  am  sure." 

"  A  gentleman  Avould  not  make  you  a  formal  proposal, 
and  leave  you  in  doubt  as  to  Avhat  he  meant." 

"  Oh  dear,  no.  There  Avas  no  doubt  at  all  of  that  kind 
— none  in  the  least.  Mr.  Smith,  in  asking  Miss  Jones  to 
do  him  the  honor  of  becoming  Mrs.  Smith,  never  spoke 
more  plainly.  I  Avas  alluding  to  the  possibility  of  having 
dreamt  it  all." 

"Lucy!" 

"Well,  it  Avas  not  a  dream.  Here,  standing  here,  on 
this  very  spot,  on  that  floAver  of  the  carpet,  he  begged  me 
a  dozen  times  to  be  his  Avife.  I  Avonder  Avhether  you  and 
Mark  Avould  let  me  cut  it  out  and  keep  it." 

"  And  what  answer  did  you  make  to  him  ?" 

"  I  lied  to  him,  and  told  him  that  I  did  not  love  him." 

"You  refused  him?" 

"  Yes,  I  refused  a  live  lord.  There  is  some  satisfaction 
in  having  that  to  thi^k  of,  is  there  not?  Fanny,  Avas  I 
wicked  to  tell  that  falsehood  ?" 

"  And  Avhy  did  you  refuse  him  ?" 


FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE.  293 

"Why?  Can  you  ask?  Think  what  it  would  have 
been  to  go  down  to  Fraraley  Court,  and  to  tell  her  lady- 
ship in  the  course  of  conversation  that  I  was  engaged  to 
her  son.  Think  of  Lady  Lufton.  But  yet  it  was  not  that, 
Fanny.  Had  I  thought  that  it  was  good  for  him,  that  he 
would  not  have  repented,  I  would  have  braved  any  thing 
for  his  sake — even  your  frown,  for  you  would  have  frown- 
ed; You  would  have  thought  it  sacrilege  for  me  to  marry 
Lord  Lufton !     You  know  you  would." 

Mrs.  Robarts  hardly  knew  how  to  say  what  she  thought, 
or,  indeed,  wliat  she  ought  to  think.  It  was  a  matter  on 
which  much  meditation  would  be  required  before  she  could 
give  advice,  and  there  Avas  Lucy  expecting  counsel  from 
her  at  that  very  moment.  If  Lord  Lufton  really  loved 
Lucy  Robarts,  and  was  loved  by  Lucy  Robarts,  why  should 
not  they  two  become  man  and  wife?  And  yet  she  did 
feel  that  it  would  be — perhaps,  not  sacrilege,  as  Lucy  had 
said,  but  something  almost  as  troublesome.  What  would 
Lady  Lufton  say,  or  think,  or  feel  ?  What  would  she  say, 
and  think,  and  feel  as  to  that  j^arsonage  from  which  so  dead- 
ly a  blow  would  fall  upon  her  ?  Would  she  not  accuse  the 
vicar  and  the  vicar's  wife  of  the  blackest  ingratitude? 
AVould  life  be  endurable  at  Framley  under  such  circum- 
stances as  those  ? 

''  What  you  tell  me  so  surprises  me  that  I  hardly  as  yet 
know  how  to  speak  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts. 

"  It  was  amazing,  was  it  not  ?  He  must  have  been  in- 
sane at  the  time ;  there  can  be  no  other  excuse  made  for 
him.  I  wonder  Avhether  there  is  any  thing  of  that  sort  in 
the  family." 

"  What,  madness?"  said  Mrs.  Robarts,  quite  in  earnest. 

"  Well,  don't  you  think  he  must  have  been  mad  when 
such  an  idea  as  that  came  into  his  head  ?  But  you  don't 
believe  it ;  I  can  see  that.  And'^'et  it  is  as  true 'as  heaven. 
Standing  exactly  here,  on  this  spot,  he  said  that  he  would 
persevere  till  I  accepted  his  love.  I  w^onder  what  made 
me  specially  observe  that  both  his  feet  were  within  the 
lines  of  that  division." 

"  And  you  would  not  accept  his  love  ?" 

"  No,  I  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  it.  Look  you,  I 
stood  here,  and,  putting  my  hand  upon  my  heart,  for  he 
bade  me  to  do  that,  I  said  that  I  could  not  love  him  ?" 

"And  what  then?" 


294  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

"  He  Avent  away  with  a  look  as  though  he  were  heart- 
broken. He  crept  away  slowly,  saying  that  he  was  the 
most  wretched  man  alive.  For  a  minute  I  believed  him, 
and  could  almost  have  called  him  back.  But  no,  Fanny, 
do  not  think  that  I  am  over  proud  or  conceited  about  my 
conquest.  He  had  not  reached  the  gate  before  he  was 
thanking  God  for  his  escape." 

"  That  I  do  not  believe." 

"  But  I  do ;  and  I  thought  of  Lady  Lufton  too.  How 
could  I  bear  that  she  should  scorn  me,  and  accuse  me  of 
stealing  her  son's  heart  ?  I  know  thnt  it  is  better  as  it  is  ; 
but  tell  me,  is  a  falsehood  always  wrong,  or  can  it  be  pos- 
sible that  the  end  should  justify  the  means?  Ought  I  to 
have  told  him  the  truth,  and  to  have  let  him  know  that  I 
could  almost  kiss  the  ground  on  which  he  stood  ?" 

This  was  a  question  for  the  doctors  which  Mrs.  Robarts 
w^ould  not  take  upon  herself  to  answer.  She  would  not 
make  that  falsehood  matter  of  accusation,  but  neither  would 
she  pronounce  for  it  any  absolution.  In  that  matter  Lucy 
must  regulate  her  own  conscience.  "  And  what  shall  I  do 
next  ?"  said  Lucy,,  still  speaking  in  a  tone  that  Avas  half 
tragic  and  half  jeering. 

"  Do  ?"  said  Mrs.  Robarts. 

"Yes,  something  must  be  done.  If  I  were  a  man  I 
should  go  to  Switzerland,  of  course ;  or,  as  the  case  is  a  bad 
one,  perhaps  as  far  as  Hungary.  What  is  it  that  girls  do  ? 
they  don't  die  nowadays,  I  believe." 

"  Lucy,  I  do  not  believe  that  you  care  for  him  one  jot. 
If  you  w^ere  in  love  you  would  not  speak  of  it  like  that." 

"  There,  there.  That's  my  only  hope.  If  I  could  laugh 
£it  myself  till  it  had  become  incredible  to  you,  I  also,  by 
degrees,  should  cease  to  believe  that  I  had  cared  for  him. 
But,  Fanny,  it  is  very  hard.  If  I  were  to  starve,  and  rise 
before  daybreak,  and  pinch  myself,  or  do  some  nasty  work 
— clean  the  pots  and  pans  and  the  candlesticks — that,  I 
think,  would  do  the  most  good.  I  have  got  a  piece  of 
sackcloth,  and  I  mean  to  wear  that  when  I  have  made  it  up." 

"  You  are  joking  now,  Lucy,  I  know." 

"  No,  by  my  word — not  in  the  spirit  of  what  I  am  say- 
ing. How  shall  I  act  upon  my  heart  if  I  do  not  do  it 
through  the  blood  and  the  flesh  ?" 

"Do  you  not  pray  that  God  will  give  you  strength  to 
bear  these  troubles  ?" 


FKAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  295 

"  But  how  is  one  to  word  one's  prayer,  or  how  even  to 
word  one's  wishes?  I  do  not  know  what  is  the  wrong 
that  I  have  done.  I  say  it  boldly ;  in  this  matter  I  can  not 
see  my  own  fault.  I  have  simply  found  that  I  have  been 
a  fool."  • 

It  was  now  quite  dark  inr  the  room,  or  would  have  been 
so  to  any  one  entering  it  afresh.  They  had  remained  there- 
talking  till  their  eyes  had  become  accustomed  to  the  gloom, 
and  would  still  have  remained  had  they  not  suddenly  been 
disturbed  by  the  sound  of  a  horse's  feet. 

"  There  is  Mark^"  said  Fanny,  jumping  up  and  running 
to  the  bell,  that  ligl^s  might  be  ready  when  he  should  enter. 

"  I  thought  he  remained  in  Barchester  to-night." 

"  And  so  did  I ;  but  he  said  it  might  be  doubtful.  "What 
shall  we  do  if  he  has  not  dined  ?" 

That,  I  beUeve,  is  always  the  first  thought  in  the  mind 
of  a  good  wife  when  her  husband  returns  home.  Has  he 
had  his  dinner  ?  What  can  I  give  hirti  for  dinner  ?  Will 
he  like  his  dinner  ?  Oh  dear !  oh  dear !  there's  nothing  in 
the  house  but  cold  mutton.  But  on  this  occasion  the  lord 
of  the  mansion  had  dined,  and  came  home  radiant  with 
godd-humor,  and  owing,  perhaps,  a  little  of  his  radiance  to 
the  dean's  claret.  "  I  have  told  them,"  said  he, "  that  they 
may  keep  possession  of  the  house  for  the  next  two  months, 
and  they  have  agreed  to  that  arrangement." 

*'  That  is  very  pleasant,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts. 

"  And  I  don't  think  we  shall  have  so  much  trouble  about 
the  dilapidations  after  all." 

"  I  am  very  glad  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts.  But,  nev- 
ertheless, she  was  thinking  much  more  of  Lucy  than  of  the 
house  in  Barchester  Close. 

"You  won't  betray  me,"  said  Lucy,  as  she  gave  her  sis- 
ter-in-law a  parting  kiss  at  night. 

"  No,  not  unless  you  give  me  permission." 

"  Ah  !  I  shall  never  do  that." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

SOUTH    AUDLEY    STREET. 

The  Duke  of  Omnium  had  notified  to  Mr.  Fothergill  his 
wish  that  some  arrangement  should  be  made  about  the 
Chaldicotes  mortgages,  and  Mr.  Fothergill  had  understood 


296  FKAMLEY  PAESONAGE. 

what  the  duke  meant  as.  well  as  though  his  instructions  had 
been  written  down  with  all  a  lawyer's  verbosity.  The 
duke's  meaning  was  this,  that  Chaldicotes  was  to  be  swept 
up  and  garnered,  and  made  part  and  parcel  of  the  Gather- 
um jDroperty.  It  had  seemed  to  the  duke  that  that  affair 
between  his  friend  and  Miss  Dunstable  was  hanging  fire, 
land  therefore  it  would  be  well  that  Chaldicotes  should  be 
swept  up  and  garnered.  And,  moreover,  tidings  had  come 
into  the  western  division  of  the  county  that  young  Frank 
Gresham,  of  Boxall  Hill,  was  in  treaty  with  the  government 
for  the  purchase  of  all  that  crown  property  called  the  Chace 
of  .Chaldicotes.  It  had  been  offered  to  the  duke,  but  the 
duke  had  given  no  definite  answer.  Had  he  got  his  money 
back  from  Mr.  Sowerby,  he  could  have  forestalled  Mr. 
Greshanl ;  but  now  that  did  not  seem  to  be  probable,  and 
his  grace  was  resolved  that  either  the  one  property  or  the 
other  should  be  duly  garnered.  Therefore  Mr.  Fothergill 
went  up  to  town,  and  therefore  Mr.  Sowerby  was,  most 
unwillingly,  compelled  to  have  a  business  interview  with 
Mr.  Fothergill.  In  the  mean  time,  since  last  we  saw  him, 
Mr.  Sowerby  had  learned  from  his  sister  the  answer  which 
Miss  Dunstable  had  given  to  his  proposition)  and  knew  that 
he  had  no  farther  hope  in  that  direction. 

There  was  no  farther  hope  thence  of  absolute  deliverance, 
but  there  Jiad  been  a  tender  of  money  services.  To  give 
Mr.  Sowerby  his  due,  he  had  at  once  declared  that  it  would 
be  quite  out  of  the  question  that  he  should  now  receive 
any  assistance  of  that  sort  from  Miss  Dunstable ;  but  his 
sister  had  explained  to  him  that  it  would  be  a  mere  busi- 
ness transaction ;  that  Miss  Dunstable  would  receive  her 
interest ;  and  that,  if  she  would  be  content  with  four  per 
cent.,  whereas  the  duke  received  five,  and  other  creditors 
six,  seven,  eight,  ten,  and  Heaven  only  knows  how  much 
more,  it  might  be  well  for  all  parties.  He  himself  under- 
stood, as  well  as  Fothergill  had  done,  what  was  the  mean- 
ing of  the  duke's  message.  Chaldicotes  was  to  be  gather- 
ed up  and  garnered,  as  had  been  done  with  so  many  another 
fair  property  lying  in  those  regions.  It  was  to  be  swal- 
lowed whole,  and  the  master  was  to  walk  out  from  his  old 
family  hall,  to  leave  the  old  woods  that  he  loved,  to  give 
up  utterly  to  another  the  parks,  and  paddocks,  and  pleas- 
ant places  which  he  had  known  from  his  earliest  infancy, 
and  owned  from  his  earliest  manhood. 


FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE.  29V 

There  can  be  nothing  more  bitter  to  a  man  than  such  a 
surrender.  What,  compared  to  this,  can  be  the  loss  of 
wealth  to  one  who  has  himself  made  it,  and  brought  it  to- 
gether, but  has  never  actually  seen  it  with  his  bodily  eyes  ? 
Such  wealth  has  come  by  one  chance,  and  goes  by  another ; 
the  loss  of  it  is  part  of  the  game  which  the  man  is  playing ; 
and  if  he  can  not  lose  as  well  as  win,  he  is  a  poor,  weak, 
cowardly  creatm*e.  Such  men,  as  a  rule,  do  know  how  to 
bear  a  mind  fairly  equal  to  adversity.  But  to  have  squan- 
dered the  acres  which  have  descended  from  generation  to 
generation ;  to  be  the  member  of  one's  family  that  has 
ruined  that  family;  to  have  swallowed  up  in  one's  own 
maw  all  that  should  have  graced  one's  children  and  one's 
grandchildren !  It  seems  to  me  that  the  misfortunes  of 
this  world  can  hardly  go  beyond  that ! 

Mr.  Sowerby,  in  spite  of  his  recklessness  and  that  dare- 
devil gayety  which  he  knew  so  well  how  to  wear  and  use, 
felt  all  tliis  as  keenly  as  any  man  could  feel  it.  It  had  been 
absolutely  his  own  fault.  The  acres  had  come  to  him  all 
his  own,  and  now,  before  his  death,  every  one  of  them 
would  have  gone  bodily  into  that  greedy  maw.  The  duke 
had  bought  up  nearly  all  the  debts  which  had  been  secured 
upon  the  property,  and  now  could  make  a  clean  sweep  of 
it.  Sowerby,  when  he  received  that  message  from  Mr. 
Fothergill,  knew  w^ell  that  this  was  intended ;  and  he  knew 
Avell,  also,  that  when  once  he  should  cease  to  be  Mr.  Sow- 
erby of  Chaldicotes,  he  need  never  again  hope  to  be  re- 
turned as  member  for  West  Barsetshire.  This  world  would 
for  him  be  all  over.  And  what  must  such  a  man  feel  when 
he  reflects  that  this  world  is  for  him  all  over  ? 

On  the  morning  in  question  he  went  to  his  appointment, 
still  bearing  a  cheerful  countenance.  Mr.  Fothergill,  when 
in  town  on  such  business  as  this,  always  had  a  room  at  his 
service  in  the  house  of  Messrs.  Gumption  and  Gagebee, 
the  duke's  London  law  agents,  and  it  was  thither  that  Mr. 
Sowerby  had  been  summoned.  The  house  of  business  of 
Messrs.  Gumption  and  Gagebee  was  in  South  Audley  Street, 
and  it  may  be  said  that  there  was  no  spot  on  the  Avholc 
earth  which  Mr.  Sowerby  so  hated  as  he  did  the  gloomy, 
dingy  back  sitting-room  up  stairs  in  that  house.  He  had 
been  there  very  often,  but  had  never  been  there  without 
annoyance.  It  was  a  horrid  torture-chamber,  kept  for  such 
dread  purposes  a»  these,  and  no  doubt  had  been  furnished, 

N  2 


298  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

and  papered,  and  curtained  with  the  express  object  of 
finally  breaking  down  the  spirits  of  such  poor  country  gen- 
tlemen as  chanced  to  be  involved.  Every  thing  was  of  a 
brown  crimson — of  a  crimson  that  had  become  brown. 
Sunlight,  real  genial  light  of  the  sun,  never  made  its  way 
there,  and  no  amount  of  candles  could  illumine  the  gloom 
of  that  brownness.  The  windows  were  never  washed; 
the  ceiling  was  of  a  dark  brown ;  the  old  Turkey  carpet 
was  thick  with  dust,  and  brown  withal.  The  ungainly 
office-table,  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  had  been  covered 
with  black  leather,  but  that  was  now  brown.  There  was 
a  bookcase  full  of  dingy  brown  law-books  in  a  recess  on 
one  side  of  the  fireplace,  but  no  one  had  touched  them  for 
years,  and  over  the  chimney-piece  hung  some  old  legal 
pedigree  table,  black  with  soot.  Such  was  the  room  which 
Mr.  Fothergili  always  used  in  the  business  house  of  Messrs. 
Gumption  and  Gagebee,  in  South  Audley  Street,  near  to 
Park  Lane. 

I  once  heard  this  room  spoken  of  by  an  old  friend  of 
mine,  one  Mr.  Gresham  of  Greshamsbury,  the  father  of 
Frank  Gresham,  who  was  now  about  to  purchase  the  part 
of  the  Chace  of  Chaldicotes  which  belonged  to  the  croAvn. 
He  had  also  had  evil  days,  though  now  happily  they  were 
past  and  gone  ;  and  he,  too,  had  sat  in  that  room,  and  lis- 
tened to  the  voice  of  men  who  were  powerful  over  his 
property,  and  intended  to  use  that  power.  The  idea  which 
he  left  on  my  mind  was  much  the  same  as  that  which  I  had 
entertained,  w^hen  a  boy,  of  a  certain  room  in  the  castle  of 
Udolpho.  There  was  a  chair  in  that  Udolpho  room  in 
which  those  who  sat  were  dragged  out  limb  by  limb,  the 
liead  one  way  and  the  legs  another ;  the  fingers  were  drag- 
ged ofi*  from  the  hands,  and  the  teeth  out  from  the  jaws, 
and  the  hair  ofi*  the  head,  and  the  flesh  from  the  bones,  and 
the  joints  from  their  sockets,  till  there  was  nothing  left  but 
a  lifeless  trunk  seated  in  the  chair.  Mr.  Gresham,  as  he 
told  me,  always  sat  in  the  same  seat,  and  the  tortures  he 
suffered  when  so  seated,  the  dislocations  of  his  property 
which  he  was  forced  to  discuss,  the  operations  on  his  very 
self  which  he  was  forced  to  witness,  made  me  regard  that 
room  as  worse  than  the  chamber  of  Udolpho.  He,  luckily 
— a  rare  instance  of  good  fortune — had  lived  to  see  all  his 
bones  and  joints  put  together  again,  and  flourishing  sound- 
ly; but  he  never  could  speak  of  the  room  without  horror. 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  299 

"  No  consideration  on  earth,"  he  once  said  to  me,  very 
solemnly,  "  I  say  none,  should  make  me  again  enter  that 
room."  And,  indeed,  this  feeling  was  so  strong  with  him, 
that  from  the  day  when  his  affairs  took  a  turn  he  would 
never  even  walk  down  South  Audley  Street.  On  the 
morning  in  question,  into  this  torture-chamber  Mr.  Sower- 
by  went,  and  there,  after  some  two  or  three  minutes,  lie 
was  joined  by  Mr.  Fothergill. 

Mr.  Fothergill  was,  in  one  respect,  like  to  his  friend 
Sowerby.  He  enacted  two  altogether  different  persons 
on  occasions  which  were  altogether  different.  Generally 
speaking,  with  the  world  at  large,  he  was  a  jolly,  rollick- 
ing, popular  man,  fond  of  eating  and  drinking,  known  to 
be  devoted  to  the  duke's  interests,  and  supposed  to  be 
somewhat  unscrupulous,  or,  at  any  rate,  hard  when  they 
were  concerned,  but  in  other  respects  a  good-natured  fel- 
low ;  and  there  was  a  report  about  that  he  had  once  lent 
somebody  money  without  charging  him  interest  or  taking 
security.  On  the  present  occasion  SoWerby  saw  at  a 
glance  that  he  had  come  thither  with  all  the  aptitudes  and 
appurtenances  of  his  business  about  him.  He  walked  into 
the  room  with  a  short,  quick  step ;  there  Avas  no  smile  on 
his  face  as  he  shook  hands  Avith  his  old  friend  ;  he  brought 
with  him  a  box  laden  with  papers  and  parchments,  and  he 
had  not  been  a  minute  in  the  room  before  he  was  seated  in 
one  of  the  old  dingy  chairs. 

"How  long  have  you  been  in  town,  Fothergill?"  said 
Sowerby,  still  standing  with  his  back  against  the  chimney. 
He  had  resolved  on  only  one  thing — that  nothing  should 
induce  him  to  touch, .look  at,  or  listen  to  any  of  those  pa- 
pers. He  knew  Avell  enough  that  no  good  w^ould  come  of 
that.  He  also  had  his  oAvn  lawyer,  to  see  that  he  was  pil- 
fered according  to  rule. 

"  How  long  ?  Since  the  day  before  yesterday.  I  never 
Avas  so  busy  in  my  life.  The  duke,  as  usual,  Avants  to  have 
every  thing  done  at  once." 

"  If  he  Avants  to  have  all  that  I  OAve  him  paid  at  once, 
he  is  like  to  be  out  in  his  reckoning." 

"Ah!  Avell,  I'm  glad  you  are  ready  to  come  quickly  to 
business,  because  it's  ahvays  best.  Won't  you  come  and 
sit  doAvn  here  ?" 

"  No,  thank  you,  I'll  stand." 

"But  Ave  shall  have  to  go  through  these  figures,  you 
know." 


300  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

"Not  a  figure,  Fothergill.  What  good  would  it  do? 
None  to  me,  and  none  to  you  either,  as  I  take  it ;  if  there 
is  any  thing  wrong,  Potter's  fellows  will  find  it  out.  What 
is  it  the  duke  wants  ?" 

"  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  wants  his  money." 

"  In  one  sense,  and  that  the  main  sense,  he  has  got  it. 
He  gets  his  interest  regularly,  does  not  he  ?" 

"  Pretty  well  for  that,  seeing  how  times  are.  But,  Sow- 
erby,  that's  nonsense.  You  understand  the  duke  as  w^ell  as 
I  do,  and  you  know  very  well  what  he  wants.  He  has 
given  you  time,  and  if  you  had  taken  any  steps  toward  get- 
ting the  money,  you  might  have  saved  the  property." 

"  A  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  pounds !  What  steps 
could  I  take  to  get  that  ?  Fly  a  bill,  and  let  Tozer  have 
it  to  get  cash  on  it  in  the  city !" 

"  We  hoped  you  were  going  to  marry." 

"That's  all  ofi"." 

"  Then  I  don't  think  you  can  blame  the  duke  for  looking 
for  his  own.  It  does  not  suit  him  to  have  so  large  a  sum 
standing  out  any  longer.  You  see,  he  wants  land,  and 
will  have  it.  Had  you  paid  off*  what  you  owed  him,  he 
would  have  purchased  the  crown  property ;  and  now,  it 
seems,  young  Gresham  has  bid  against  him,  and  is  to  have 
it.  This  has  riled  him,  and  I  may  as  well  tell  you  fairly 
that  he  is  determined  to  have  either  money  or  marbles." 

"  You  mean  that  I  am  to  be  dispossessed." 

"  Well,  yes,  if  you  choose  to  call  it  so.  My  instructions 
are  to  foreclose  at  once." 

"  Then  I  must  say  the  duke  is  treating  me  most  uncom- 
monly ill." 

"  Well,  Sowerby,  I  can't  see  it." 

"I  can,  though.  He  has  his  money  like  clock-work; 
and  he  has  bought  up  these  debts  from  persons  who  would 
have  never  disturbed  me  as  long  as  they  got  their  interest." 

"  Haven't  you  had  the  seat  ?" 

"The  seat!  and  is  it  expected  that  I  am  to  pay  for 
that?" 

"  I  don't  see  that  any  one  is  asking  you  to  pay  for  it. 

You  are  like  a  great  many  other  people  that  I  know.     You 

-  want  to  eat  your  cake  and  have  it.     You  have  been  eating 

it  for  the  last  twenty  years,  and  now  you  think  yourself 

very  ill  used  because  the  duke  Avants  to  have  his  turn." 

"  I  shall  think  myself  very  ill  used  if  he  sells  me  out — 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  301 

worse  than  ill  used.  I  do  not  want  to  use  strong  language, 
but  it  will  be  more,  than  ill  usage.  I  can  hardly  believe 
that  he  really  means  to  treat  me  in  that  way." 

"  It  is  very  hard  that  he  should  want  his  own  money !" 
"  It  is  not  his  money  that 'he  wants.  It  is  my  property." 
"And  has  he  not  paid  for  it?  Have  you  not  had  the 
price  of  your  property?  Now,  Sowerby,  it  is  of  no  use 
for  you  to  be  angry ;  you  have  known  for  the  last  three 
years  what  was  coming  on  you-  as  well  as  I  did.  Why 
should  the  duke  lend  you  money  without  an  object  ?  Of 
course  he  has  his  own  views.  But  I  do  say  this,  he  has 
not  hurried  you ;  and,  had  you  been  able  to  do  any  thing 
to  save  the  place,  you  might  have  done  it.  You  have  had 
time  enough  to  look  about  you." 

Sowerby  still  stood  in  the  place  in  which  he  had  first 
fixed  himself,  and  now  for  a  while  he  remained  silent.  His 
face  was  very  stern,  and  there  was  in  his  countenance  none 
of  those  winning  looks  which  often  told  so  powerfully  with 
his  young  friends — which  had  caught  Lord  Lufton  and  had 
charmed  Mark  Robarts.  The  world  was  going  against 
him,  and  things  around  him  were  coming  to  an  end.  He 
Avas  beginning  to  perceive  that  he  had  in  truth  eaten  his 
cake,  and  that  there  was  now  little  left  for  him  to  do,  un- 
less he  chose  to  blow  out  his  brains.  He  had  said  to  Lord 
Lufton  that  a  man's  back  should  be  broad  enough  for  any 
burden  with  which  he  himself  might  load  it.  Could  he 
now  boast  that  his  back  was  broad  enough  and  strong 
enough  for  this  burden?  But  he  had  even  then,  at  that 
bitter  moment,  a  strong  remembrance  that  it  behooved 
liim  still  to  be  a  man.  His  final  ruin  was  coming  on  him, 
and  he  would  soon  be  swept  away  out  of  the  knowledge 
and  memory  of  those  with  whom  he  had  lived.  But,  nev- 
ertheless, he  would  bear  himself  well  to  the  last.  It  was 
true  that  he  had  made  his  own  bed,  and  he  understood  the 
justice  which  required  him  to  lie  upon  it. 

During  all  this  time  Fothergill  occupied  himself  with  the 
papers.  He  continued  to  turn  over  one  sheet  after  another 
as  though  he  were  deeply  engaged  in  money  considerations 
and  calculations.  But,  in  truth,  during  all  that  time  he 
did  not  read  a  word.  There  was  nothing  there  for  him  to 
read.  The  reading  and  the  writing,  and  the  arithmetic  in 
such  matters,  are  done  by  underlings,  not  by  such  big  men 
as  Mr.  Fothergill.     His  business  was  to  tell  Sowerby  that 


302  FEAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

he  was  to  go.  All  those  records  there  were  of  very  little 
use.  The  duke  had  the  power ;  Sowerby  knew  that  the 
duke  had  the  power ;  and  Fothergill's  business  was  to  ex- 
plain that  the  duke  meant  to  exercise  his  power.  He  was 
used  to  the  work,  and  went  on  turning  over  the  papers, 
and  pretending  to  read  them,  as  though  his  doing  so  were 
of  the  greatest  moment. 

"  I  shall  see  the  duke  myself,"  Mr.  Sowerby  said  at  last, 
and  there  was  something  almost  dreadful  in  the  sound  of 
his-  voice. 

"  You  know  that  the  duke  Avon't  see  you  on  a  matter  of 
this  kind.  He  never  speaks  to  any  one  about  money;  you 
know  that  as  well  as  I  do." 

"  By ,  but  he  shall  speak  to  me.     Never  speak  to 

any  one  about  money  !  Why  is  he  ashamed  to  speak  of  it 
when  he  loves  it  so  dearly  ?     He  shall  see  me." 

"  I  have  nothing  fairther  to  say,  Sowerby.  Of  course,  I 
sha'n't  ask  his  grace  to  see  you  ;  and  if  you  force  your  way 
in  on  him,  you  know  what  will  happen.  It  won't  be  my 
doing  if  he  is  set  against  you.  Nothing  that  you  say  to 
me  in  that  way — nothing  that  any  body  ever  says,  goes 
beyond  myself." 

"I  shall  manage  the  matter  through  my  own  lawyer," 
said  Sowerby ;  and  then  he  took  his  hat,  and,  without  ut- 
tering another  word,  left  the  room. 

We  know  not  what  may  be  the  nature  of  that  eternal 
punishment  to  which  those  Avill  be  doomed  who  shall  be 
judged  to  have  been  evil  at  the  last,  but  methinks  that  no 
more  terrible  torment  can  be  devised  than  the  memory  of 
self-imposed  ruin.  What  wretchedness  can  exceed  that 
of  remembering  from  day  to  day  that  the  race  has  been  all 
run,  and  has  been  altogether  lost ;  that  the  last  chance  has 
gone,  and  has  gone  in  vain ;  that  the  end  has  come,  and 
with  it  disgrace,  contempt,  and  self-scorn  —  disgrace  that 
never  can  be  redeemed,  contempt  that  never  can  be  re- 
moved, and  self-scorn  that  will  eat  into  one's  vitals  forever? 

Mr.  Sowerby  .was  now  fifty ;  he  had  enjoyed  his  chances 
in  life;  and  as  he  walked  back,  up  South  Audley  Street, 
he  could  not  but  think  of  the  uses  he  had  made  of  them. 
He  had  fallen  into  the  possession  of  a  fine  property  on  the 
attainment  of  his  manhood ;  he  had  been  endowed  Avith 
more  than  average  gifts  of  intellect ;  never-failing  health 
had  been  given  to  him,  and  a  vision  fairly  clear  in  discern- 


FEAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  303 

ing  good  fmm  evil ;    and   now  to  Avbat  a,  pass  had  lie 
brought  himself! 

And  that  man  Fothergill  had  put  all  this  before  him  in 
so  terribly  clear  a  light !  Now  that  the  day  for  his  finaK 
demolishment  had  arrived,  the  necessity  that  he  should  be 
demolished — finished  away  at  once,  out  of  sight  and  out 
of  mind — had  not  been  soltened,  or,  as  it  were,  half  hidden 
by  any  ambiguous  phrase.  "You  have  had  your  cake,  and 
eaten  it — eaten  it  greedily.  Is  not  that  sufficient  for  you  ? 
Would  you  eat  your  cake  twice  ?  Would  you  have  a  suc- 
cession of  cakes  ?  No,  my  friend,  there  is  no  succession 
of  these  cakes  for  those  who  eat  them  greedily.  Your 
proposition  is  not  a  fair  one,  and  we,  who  have  the  whip- 
hand  of  you,  will  not  listen  to  it.  Be  good  enough  to  van- 
ish. Permit  yourself  to  be  swept  quietly  into  the  dunghill. 
All  that  there  was  about  you  of  value  has  departed  from 
you ;  and  allow  me  to  say  that  you  are  now — rubbish." 
And  then  the  ruthless  besom  comes  with  irresistible  rush, 
and  the  rubbish  is  swept  into  the  pit,  there  to  be  hidden 
forever  from  the  sight.  « 

And  the  pity  of  it  is  this — that  a  man,  if  he  will  only  re- 
strain his  greed,  may  eat  his  cake  and  yet  have  it ;  ay,  and 
in  so  doing  will  have  twice  more  the  flavor  of  the  cake 
than  he  who  with  gormandizing  maw  will  devour  his  dain- 
ty alfat  once.  Cakes  in  this  world  will  grow  by  being  fed 
on,  if  only  the  feeder  be  not  too  insatiate.  On  all  which 
wisdom  Mr.  Sowerby  pondered  with  sad  heart  and  very 
melancholy  mind  as  he  walked  away  from  the  premises  of 
Messrs.  Gumption  and  Gagebee. 

His  intention  had  been  to  go  down  to  the  House  after 
leaving  Mr.  Fothergill,  but  the  prospect  of  immediate  ruin 
had  been  too  much  for  him,  and  he  knew  that  he  was  not 
lit  to  be  seen  at  once  among  the  haunts  of  men.  And  he 
had  intended  also  to  go  down  to  Barchester  early  on  the 
Ibllowing  mornings — only  for  a  few  hours,  that  he  might 
make  farther  arrangements  respecting  that  bill  which  llo- 
barts  had  accepted  for  him.  That  bill — the  second  one — 
had  now  become  due,  and  Mr.  Tozer  had  been  with  him. 

"  Now  it  ain't  no  use  in  life,  Mr.  Sowerby,"  Tozer  had 
said.  "I  ain't  got  the  paper  myself,  nor  didn't  'old  it  not 
two  hours.  It  went  away  through  Tom  Tozer ;  you  knows 
that,  Mr.  Sowerby,  as  well  as  I  do." 

Now,  whenever  Tozer,  Mr.  Sowerby's  Tozer,  spoke  of 


304  FKAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

Tom  Tozer,  Mr.  Sowerby  knew  that  seven  devils  were  be- 
ing evoked,  each  worse  than  the  first  devil.  Mr.  Sowerby 
did  feel  something  Hke  sincere  regard,  or  rather  love,  for 
Hhat  poor  j)arson  whom  he  had  inveigled  into  mischief,  and 
would  fain  save  him,  if  it  were  possible,  from  the  Tozer 
fang.  Mr.  Forrest,  of  the  Barchester  Bank,  would  proba- 
bly take  up  that  last  five  hundred  pound  bill  on  behalf  of 
Mr.  Robarts,  only  it  would  be  needful  that  he,  Sowerby, 
should  run  down  and  see  that  this  was  properly  done.  As 
to  the  other  bill — the  former  and  lesser  one — as  to  that, 
Mr.  Tozer  would  probably  be  quiet  for  a  while. 

Such  had  been  Sowerby's  programme  for  these  two 
days;  but  now — what  farther  possibihty  was  there  now 
that  he  should  care  for  Robarts,  or  any  other  human  being 
— he  that  was  to  be  swept  at  once  into  the  dung-heap? 

In  this  frame  of  mind  he  walked  up  South  Audley  Street, 
and  crossed  one  side  of  Grosvenor  Square,  and  went  almost 
mechanically  into  Green  Street.  At  the  farther  end  of 
Green  Street,  near  to  Park  Lane,  lived  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Har- 
old Smith. 


CHAPTER  XXVni. 

DE.  TIIORNE. 

When  Miss  Dunstable  met  her  friends  the  Greshams — 
young  Frank  Gresham  and  his  wife — at  Gatherum  Castle, 
she  immediately  asked  after  one  Dr.  Thorne,  who  was 
Mrs.  Gresham's  uncle.  Dr.  Thorne  was  an  old  bachelor,  in 
whom  both  as  a  man  and  a  doctor  Miss  Dunstable  was  in- 
clined to  place  much  confidence.  Not  that  she  had  ever  in- 
trusted the  cure  of  her  bodily  ailments  to  Dr.  Thorne — for 
she  kept  a  doctor  of  her  own.  Dr.  Easyman,  for  this  pur- 
pose— and  it  may  moreover  be  said  that  she  rarely  had 
bodily  ailments  requiring  the  care  of  any  doctor.  But  she 
always  spoke  of  Dr.  Thorne  among  her  friends  as  a  man  of 
wonderful  erudition  and  judgment,  and  had  once  or  twice 
asked  and  acted  on  his  advice  in  matters  of  much  moment. 
Dr.  Thorne  Avas  not  a  man  accustomed  to  the  London 
world;  he  kept  no  house  there,  and  seldom  even  visited 
the  metropolis ;  but  Miss  Dunstable  had  known  him  at 
Greshamsbury,  where  he  lived,  and  there  had  for  some 
months  past  grown  up  a  considerable  intimacy  between 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  305 

them.  Ho  was  now  staying  at  the  house  of  his  niece,  Mrs. 
Grcsham ;  but  the  chief  reason  of  his  coming  up  had  been 
a  desire  expressed  by  Miss  Dunstable  that  he  should  do 
so.  She  had  wished  for  his  advice ;  and,  at  the  instigation 
of  his  niece,  he  had  visited  London  and  given  it. 

The  special  piece  of  business  as  to  which  Dr.Thorne  had 
thus  been  summoned  from  the  bedsides  of  his  country  pa- 
tients, and  especially  from  the  bedside  of  Lady  Arabella 
Gresham,  to  whose  son  his  niece  was  married,  related  to 
certain  large  money  interests,  as  to  which  one  might  have 
imagined  that  Dr.  Thome's  advice  would  not  be  peculiarly 
valuable.  He  had  never,  been  much  versed  in  such  mat- 
ters on  his  own  account,  and  was  knowing  neither  in  the 
ways  of  the  share  market  nor  in  the  prices  of  land.  But 
Miss  Dunstable  was  a  lady  accustomed  to  have  her  own 
way,  and  to  be  indulged  in  her  own  wishes  without  being 
called  on  to  give  adequate  reasons  for  them. 

"  My  dear,"  she  had  said  to  young  Mrs.  Gresham,  "  if 
your  uncle  don't  come  up  to  London  now,  when  I  make 
such  a  point  of  it,  I  shall  think  that  he  is  a  bear  and  a  sav- 
age, and  I  certainly  Avill  never  speak  to  hini  again,  or  to 
Frank,  or  to  you ;  so  you  had  better  see  to  it."  Mrs. 
Gresham  had  not  probably  taken  her  friend's  threat  as 
meaning  quite  all  that  it  threatened.  Miss  Dunstable  ha- 
bitually used  strong  language ;  and  those  who  knew  her 
well  generally  understood  when  she  was  to  be  taken  as 
expressing  her  thoughts  by  figures  of  speech.  In  this  in- 
stance she  had  not  meant  it  all ;  but,  nevertheless,  Mrs. 
Gresham  had  used  violent  influence  in  bringing  the  poor 
doctor  up  to  London. 

"Besides,"  said  Miss  Dunstable,  "I  have  resolved  on 
having  the  doctor  at  my  conversazione,  and  if  he  won't 
come  of  himself,  I  shall  go  down  and  fetch  him.  I  have 
set  my  heart  on  trumping  my  dear  friend  Mrs.  Proudie's 
best  card ;  so  I  mean  to  get  every  body." 

The  upshot  of  all  this  was,  that  the  doctor  did  come  up 
to  town,  and  remained  the  best  part  of  a  week  at  his  niece's 
house  in  Portman  Square — to  the  great  disgust  of  the  Lady 
Arabella,  who  conceived  that  she  must  die  if  neglected  for 
three  days.  As  to  the  matter  of  business,  I  have  no  doubt 
but  that  he  was  of  great  use.  He  Avas  possessed  of  com- 
mon sense  and  an  honest  purpose ;  and  1  am  inclined  to 
think  that  they  are  often  a  sufficient  counterpoise  to  a  con- 


30G  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

siderable  amount  of  worldly  experience.  If  one  could  have 
the  worldly  experience  also !  True ;  but  then  it  is  so  diffi- 
cult to  get  every  thing.  But  with  that  special  matter  of 
business  we  need  not  have  any  farther  concern.  We  will 
presume  it  to  have  been  discussed  and  completed,  and  will 
now  dress  ourselves  for  Miss  Dunstable's  conversazione. 

But  it  must  not  be  supposed  that  she  was  so  poor  in  gen- 
ius as  to  call  her  party  openly  by  a  name  borrowed  for 
the  nonce  from  Mrs.  Proudie.  It  was  only  among  her  spe- 
cially intimate  friends,  Mrs.  Harold  Smith  and  some  few 
dozen  others,  that  she  indulged  in  this  little  joke.  There 
had  been  nothing  in  the  least  pretentious  about  the  card 
with  w^hich  she  summoned  her  friends  to  her  house  on  this 
occasion.  She  had  merely  signified  in  some  ordinary  way 
that  she  would  be  glad  to  see  them  as  soon  after  nine 
o'clock  on  Thursday  evening,  the  —  instant,  as  might  be 
convenient.  But  all  the  world  understood  that  all  the 
world  was  to  be  gathered  together  at  Miss  Dunstable's 
house  on  the  night  in  question ;  that  an  effort  was  to  be 
made  to  bring  together  people  of  all  classes,  gods  and  gi- 
ants, saints  and  sinners ;  those  rabid  through  the  strength 
of  their  morality,  such  as  our  dear  friend  Lady  Lufton,  and 
those  who  were  rabid  in  the  opposite  direction,  such  as 
Lady  Hartletop,  the  Duke  of  Omnium,  and  Mr.  Sowerby. 
An  orthodox  martyr  had  been  caught  from  the  East,  and 
an  oily  latter-day  St.  Paul  from  the  other  side  of  the  water 
— to  the  horror  and  amazement  of  Archdeacon  Grantly, 
who  had  come  up  all  the  way  from  Plumstead  to  be  pres- 
ent on  the  occasion.  Mrs.  Grantly  also  had  hankered  to 
be  there ;  but  when  she  heard  of  the  presence  of  the  latter- 
day  St.  Paul,  she  triumphed  loudly  over  her  husband,  who 
had  made  no  oifer  to  take  her.  That  Lords  Brock  and  De 
Terrier  were  to  be  at  the  gathering  was  nothing.  The 
pleasant  king  of  the  gods  and  the  courtly  chief  of  the  gi- 
ants could  shake  hands  with  each  other  in  any  house  with 
the  greatest  pleasure ;  but  men  were  to  meet  who,  in  ref- 
erence to  each  other,  could  shake  nothing  but  their  heads 
or  their  fists.  Supplehouse  was  to  be  there,  and  Harold 
Smith,  Avho  now  hated  his  enemy  with  a  hatred  surpassing 
that  of  women — or  even  of  politicians.  The  minor  gods, 
it  w^as  thought,  would  congregate  together  in  one  room, 
very  bitter  in  their  present  state  of  banishment,  and  the 
minor  giants  in  another,  terribly  loud  in  their  triumph. 


FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE.  307 

That  is  the  fault  of  the  giants,  who  otherwise  are  not  bad 
fellows ;  they  are  unable  to  endure  the  weight  of  any  tem- 
porary success.  When  attempting  Olympus  —  and  this 
work  of  attempting  is  doubtless  their  natural  condition — 
they  scratch  and  scramble,  diligently  using  both  toes  and 
fingers  with  a  mixture  of  good-humored  virulence  and  self- 
satisfied  industry  that  is  gratifying  to  all  parties.  But 
whenever  their  efforts  are  unexpectedly,  and  for  themselves 
unfortunately  successful,  they  are  so  taken  aback  that  they 
lose  the  power  of  behaving  themselves  with  even  gigant- 
esque  propriety. 

Such,  so  great  and  so  various,  was  to  be  the  intended 
gathering  at  Miss  Dunstable's  house.  She  herself  laughed, 
and  quizzed  herself — speaking  of  the  affair  to  Mrs.  Harold 
Smith  as  though  it  were  an  excellent  joke,  and  to  Mrs. 
Proudie  as  though  she  were  simply  emulous  of  rivaling 
those  world-famous  assemblies  in  Gloucester  Place  ;  but 
the  town  at  large  knew  that  an  effort  Avas  being  made,  and 
it  was  supposed  that  even  Miss  Dunstable  was  somewhat 
nervous.  In  spite  of  her  excellent  joking,  it  was  presumed 
that  she  Avould  be  unhappy  if  she  failed. 

To  Mrs.  Frank  Gresham  she  did  speak  with  some  little 
seriousness.  "  But  why  on  earth  should  you  give  your- 
self all  this  trouble  ?"  that  lady  had  said,  when  Miss  Dun- 
stable owned  that  she  was  doubtful,  and  unhappy  in  her 
doubts,  as  to  the  coming  of  one  of  the  great  colleagues  of 
Mr.  SujDplehouse.  "When  such  hundreds  are  coming,  big 
wigs  and  little  wigs  of  all  shades,  what  can  it  matter 
whether  Mr.  Towers  be  there  or  not  ?" 

But  Miss  Dunstable  had  answered  almost  with  a  screech, 

"My  dear,  it  will  be  nothing  without  him.  You  don't 
understand;  but  the  "fact  is,  that  Tom  Towers  is  every 
body  and  every  thing  at  present." 

And  then,  by  no  means  for  the  first  time,  Mrs.  Gresham 
began  to  lecture  her  friend  as  to  her  vanity ;  in  answer  to 
which  lecture  Miss  Dunstable  mysteriously  hinted  that  if 
she  were  only  allowed  her  full  swing  on  this  occasion — if 
all  the  world  would  now  indulge  her,  she  would —  She 
did  not  quite  say  what  she  would  do,  but  the  inference 
drawn  by  Mrs.  Gresham  was  this:  that  if  the  yacense  now 
offered  on  the  altar  of  Fashion  were  accepted.  Miss  Dun- 
stable would  at  once  abandon  the  pomps  and  vanities  of 
this  wicked  Avorld,  and  all  the  sinful  lusts  of  the  flesh. 


308  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

"  But  the  doctor  will  stay,  my  dear  ?  I  hope  I  may 
look  on  that  as  fixed." 

Miss  Dunstable,  in  making  this  demand  on  the  doctor's 
time,  showed  an  energy  quite  equal  to  that  with  which  she 
invoked  the  gods  that  Tom  Towers  might  not  be  absent. 
Now,  to  tell  the  truth,  Dr.  Thorne  had  at  first  thought  it 
very  unreasonable  that  he  should  be  asked  to  remain  up  in 
London  in  order  that  he  might  be  present  at  an  evening 
party,  and  had  for  a  while  pertinaciously  refused;  but 
when  he  learned  that  three  or  four  prime  ministers  were 
expected,  and  that  it  was  possible  that  even  Tom  Towers 
might  be  there  in  the  flesh,  his  philosophy  also  had  become 
weak,  and  he  had  written  to  Lady  Arabella  to  say  that  his 
prolonged  absence  for  two  days  farther  must  be  endured, 
and  that  the  mild  tonics,  morning  and  evening,  might  be 
continued. 

But  why  should  Miss  Dunstable  be  so  anxious  that  Dr. 
Thorne  should  be  present  on  this  grand  occasion  ?  Why, 
indeed,  should  she  be  so  frequently  inclined  to  summon  him 
away  from  his  country  practice,  his  compounding  board, 
and  his  useful  ministrations  to  rural  ailments  ?  The  doc- 
tor was  connected  with  her  by  no  ties  of  blood.  Their 
friendship,  intimate  as  it  w^as,  had  as  yet  been  but  of  short 
date.  She  was  a  very  rich  woman,  capable  of  purchasing 
all  manner  of  advice  and  good  counsel,  whereas  he  was  so 
far  from  being  rich  that  any  continued  disturbance  to  his 
practice  might  be  inconvenient  to  him.  Nevertheless,  Miss 
Dunstable  seemed  to  have  no  more  compunction  in  making 
calls  upon  his  time  than  she  might  have  felt  had  he  been 
her  brother.  No  ideas  on  this  matter  suggested  themselves 
to  the  doctor  himself.  Lie  was  a  simple-minded  man,  tak- 
ing things  as  they  came,  and  especially  so  taking  things 
that  came  pleasantly.  He  liked  Miss  Dunstable,  and  was 
gratified  by  her  friendship,  and  did  not  think  of  asking 
himself  whether  she  had  a  right  to  put  him  to  trouble  and 
inconvenience.  But  such  ideas  did  occur  to  Mrs.  Gresham, 
the  doctor's  niece.  Had  Miss  Dunstable  any  object,  and, 
if  so,. what  object  ?  Was  it  simply  veneration  for  the  doc- 
tor, or  Avas  it  caprice?  Was  it  eccentricity,  or  could  it 
possibly  be  iove  ? 

In  speaking  of  the  ages  of  these  two  friends,  it  may  be 
said  in  round  terms  that  the  lady  was  well  past  forty,  and 
that  the  gentleman  was  well  past  fifty.     Under  such  cir- 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  309 

cumstances  could  it  be  love  ?  The  l.idy,  too,  ^vas  one  who 
had  had  offers  almost  by  the  dozen — offers  from  men  of 
rank,  from  men  of  fashion,  and  from  men  of  i)ower ;  from 
men  endowed  with  personal  attractions,  with  pleasant  man- 
ners, with  cultivated  tastes,  and  with  eloquent  tongues. 
Not  only  had  she  loved  none  such,  but  by  none  such  had 
she  been  cajoled  into  an  idea  that  it  was  possible  that  she 
could  love  them.  That  Dr.  Thome's  tastes  were  cultivated, 
and  his  manners  pleasant,  might  probably  be  admitted  by 
three  or  four  old  friends  in  the  country  who  valued  him; 
but  the  world  in  London — that  world  to  which  Miss  Dun- 
stable was  accustomed,  and  which  was  apparently  becom- 
ing dearer  to  her  day  by  day,  would  not  have  regarded 
the  doctor  as  a  man  likely  to  become  the  object  of  a  lady's 
passion. 

But,  nevertheless,  the  idea  did  occur  to  Mrs.  Gresham. 
She  had  been  brought  up  at  the  elbow  of  this  country 
practitioner;  she  had  lived  with  him  as  though  she  had 
been  his  daughter  ;  she  had  been  for  years  the  ministering 
angel  of  his  household ;  and,  till  her  heart  had  opened  to 
the  natural  love  of  womanhood,  all  her  closest  sympathies 
had  bedn  with  him.  In  her  eyes  the  doctor  was  all  but 
perfect ;  and  it  did  not  seem  to  her  to  be  out  of  the  ques- 
tion that  Miss  Dunstable' should  have  fallen  in  love  with 
her.  uncle. 

Miss  Dunstable  once  said  to  Mrs.  Harold  Smith  that  it 
was  possible  that  she  might  marry,  the  only  condition  then 
expressed  being  this,  that  the  man  elected  should  be  one 
who  was  quite  indifferent  as  to  money.  Mrs.  Harold  Smith, 
who,  by  her  friends,  was  presumed  to  know  the  world  with 
tolerable  accuracy,  had  replied  that  such  a  man  Miss  Dun- 
stable would  never  find  in  this  world.  All  this  had  passed 
in  that  half  comic  vein  of  banter  which  Miss  Dunstable  so 
commonly  used  when  conversing  with  such  friends  as  Mrs. 
Harold  Smith ;  but  she  had  spoken  words  of  the  same  im- 
port more  than  once  to  Mrs.  Gresham ;  and  Mrs.  Gresham, 
putting  two  and  two  together  as  women  do,  had  made  four 
of  the  little  sum ;  and,  as  the  final  result  of  the  calculation, 
determined  that  Miss  Dunstable  would  marry  Dr.  Thorne 
if  Dr.  Thorne  would  ask  her. 

And  then  Mrs.  Gresham  began  to  bethink  herself  of  two 
other  questions.  Would  it  be  well  that  her  uncle  should 
marry  Miss  Dunstable  ?  and,  if  so,  would  it  be  possible  to 


310  FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

induce  him  to  make  such  a  proposition  ?  After  the  con- 
sideration of  many  pros  and  cons,  and  the  balancing  of 
very  various  arguments,  Mrs.  Gresham  thought  that  the 
arrangement,  on  the  whole,  might  not  be  a  bad  one.  For 
Miss  Dunstable  she  herself  had  a  sincere  affection,  Avhich 
was  shared  by  her  husband.  She  had  often  grieved  at  the 
sacrifices  Miss  Dunstable  made  to  the  world,  thinking  that 
her  friend  was  falling  into  vanity,  indifference,  and  an  ill 
mode  of  life ;  but  such  a  marriage  as  this  would  probably 
cure  all  that.  And  then  as  to  Dr.  Thorne  himself,  to  whose 
benefit  were  of  course  applied  Mrs.  Gresham's  most  earnest 
thoughts  in  this  matter,  she  could  not  but  think  that  he 
would  be  happier  married  than  he  was  single.  In  point 
of  temper,  no  woman  could  stand  higher  than  Miss  Dun- 
stable; no  one  had  overheard  of  her  being  in  an  ill  humor; 
and  then,  though  Mrs.  Gresham  was  gifted  with  a  mind 
which  was  far  removed  from  being  mercenary,  it  was  im- 
possible not  to  feel  that  some  benefit  must  accrue  from  the 
bride's  wealth.  Mary  Thorne,  the  present  Mrs.  Frank 
Gresham,  had  herself  been  a  great  heiress.  Circumstances 
had  weighted  her  hand  with  enormous  possessions,  and 
hitherto  she  had  not  realized  the  truth  of  that  lesson  which 
would  teach  us  to  believe  that  happiness  and  riches  are  in- 
compatible. Therefore  she  resolved  that  it  might  be  well 
if  the  doctor  and  Miss  Dunstable  Avere  brought  together. 

But  could  the  doctor  be  induced  to  make  such  an  offer  ? 
Mrs.  Gresham  acknowledged  a  terrible  difficulty  in  look- 
ing at  the  matter  from  that  point  of  view.  Her  imcle  was 
fond  of  Miss  Dunstable,  but  she  w\as  sure  that  an  idea  of 
^uch  a  marriage  had  never  entered  his  head  ;  that  it  would 
be  very  difficult — almost  impossible — to  create  such  an 
idea ;  and  that,  if  the  idea  were  there,  the  doctor  could 
hardly  be  instigated  to  make  the  proposition.  Looking  at 
the  matter  as  a  whole,  she  feared  that  the  match  was  not 
l^racticable. 

On  the  day  of  Miss  Dunstable's  party,  Mrs.  Gresham 
and  her  uncle  dined  together  alone  in  Portman  Square. 
Mr.  Gresham  was  not  yet  in  Parliament,  but  an  almost 
immediate  vacancy  w^as  expected  in  his  division  of  the 
county,  and  it  was  known  that  no  one  could  stand  against 
him  with  any  chance  of  success.  This  threw  him  much 
among  the  politicians  of  his  party — those  giants,  namely, 
whom  it  would  be  his  business  to  support,  and  on  this  ac- 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  311 

count  1)0  was  a  good  deal  away  from  his  own  house  at  the 
present  moment. 

"  Politics  make  a  terrible  demand  on  a  man's  time,"  he 
said  to  his  wife,  and  then  went  down  to  dine  at  his  club  in 
Pall  Mall  with  sundry  other  young  philogeants.  On  men 
of  that  class  politics  do  make  a  great  demand — at  the  hour 
of  dinner  and  thereabouts. 

"What  do  you  think  of  Miss  Dunstable?"  said  Mrs. 
Gresham  to  her  uncle,  as  they  sat  together  over  their  cof- 
fee. She  added  nothing  to  the  question,  but  asked  it  in 
all  its  baldness. 

"Think  about  her!"  said  the  doctor.  "Well,  Mary, 
Avhat  do  you  think  about  her  ?  I  dare  say  we  think  the 
same." 

"  But  that's  not  the  question.  What  do  you  think  about 
her  ?     Do  you  think  she's  honest  ?" 

"Honest?  Oh  yes,  certainly  —  very  lionest,  I  should 
say." 

"  And  good-tempered  ?" 

"  Uncommonly  good-tempered." 

"  And  aifectionate  ?" 

"Well,  yes — and  aifectionate.  I  should  certainly  say 
that  she  is  affectionate." 

"  I'm  sure  she's  clever." 

"  Yes,  I  think  she's  clever." 

"  And,  and — and  womanly  in  her  feelings,"  Mrs.  Gresh- 
am felt  that  she  could  not  quite  say  lady-like,  though  she 
would  fain  have  done  so  had  she  dared. 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  the  doctor.  "  But,  Mary,  why  are 
you  dissecting  Miss  Dunstable's  character  with  so  much 
ingenuity  ?" 

"  Well,  uncle,  I  will  tell  you  why ;  because — "  and  Mrs. 
Gresham,  while  she  was  speaking,  got  up  from  her  chair, 
and  going  round  the  table  to  her  uncle's  side,  put  her  arm 
round  his  neck  till  her  face  Avas  close  to  his,  and  then  con- 
tinued speaking  as  she  stood  behind  him  out  of  his  sight — 
"because-^I  think  that  Miss  Dunstable  is — is  very  fond 
of  you,  and  that  it  would  make  her  happy  if  you  Avould — 
ask  her  to  be  your  wife." 

"Mary!"  said  the  doctor,  turning  round  with  an  en- 
deavor to  look  his  niece  in  the  face. 

"  I  am  quite  in  earnest,  uncle — quite  in  earnest.  From 
little  things  that  she  has  said,  and  little  things  that  I  have 
seen,  I  do  believe  what  I  now  tell  you." 


312  FKAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

"  And  you  want  me  to — ^" 

"  Dear  uncle — my  own  one  darling  uncle,  I  want  you 
only  to  do  that  which  will  make  you — make  you  happy. 
What  is  Miss  Dunstable  to  me  compared  to  you  ?"  And 
then  she  stooped  down  and  kissed  him. 

The  doctor  was  apparently  too  much  astounded  by  the 
intimation  given  him  to  make  any  farther  immediate  reply. 
His  niece,  seeing  this,  left  him  that  she  might  go  and  dress, 
and  when  they  met  again  in  the  drawing-room  Frank 
Gresham  was  with  them. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

MISS   DUNSTABLE   AT   HOME. 

Miss  Dunstable  did  not  look  like  a  lovelorn  maiden,  as 
she  stood  in  a  small  antechamber  at  the  top  of  her  draw- 
ing-room stairs  receiving  her  guests.  Her  house  was  one 
of  those  abnormal  mansions  Avhich  are  to  be  seen  here  and 
there  in  London,  built  in  compliance  rather  with  the  rules 
of  rural  architecture  than  with  those  which  usually  govern 
the  erection  of  city  streets  and  town  terraces.  It  stood 
back  from  its  brethren,  and  alone,  so  that  its  owner  could 
walk  round  it.  It  was  approached  by  a  short  carriage- 
way ;  the  chief  door  was  in  the  back  of  the  building ;  and 
the  front  of  the  house  looked  on  to  one  of  the  parks.  Miss 
Dunstable,  in  procuring  it,  had  had  her  usual  luck.  It  had 
been  built  by  an  eccentric  millionnaire  at  an  enormous 
cost;  and  the  eccentric  millionnaire,  after  living  in  it  for 
twelve  months,  had  declared  that  it  did  not  possess  a  sin- 
gle comfort,  and  that  it  was  deficient  in  most  of  those  de- 
tails which,  in  point  of  house  accommodation,  are  neces- 
sary to  the  very  existence  of  man.  Consequently,  the  man- 
sion was  sold,  and  Miss  Dunstable  was  the  purchaser. 
Cranbourn  House  it  had  been  named,  and  its  present  owner 
had  made  no  change  in  this  resjDect ;  but  the  world  at  large 
very  generally  called  it  Ointment  Hall,  and  Miss  Dunstable 
herself  as  frequently  used  that  name  for  it  as  any  other. 
It  was  impossible  to  quiz  Miss  Dunstable  with  any  success, 
because  she  always  joined  in  the  joke  herself. 

Not  a  word  farther  had  passed  between  Mrs.  Gresham 
and  Dr.  Thorne  on  the  subject  of  their  last  conversation ; 
but  the  doctor,  as  he  entered  the  lady's  portals  among  a 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  313 

tribe  of  servants  and  in  a  glare  of  light,  and  saw  the  crowd 
before  him  and  the  crowd  behind  him,  felt  that  it  was  quite 
impossible  that  he  should  ever  be  at  home  there.  It  might 
be  all  right  that  a  Miss  Dunstable  should  live  in  this  way, 
but  it  could  not  be  right  that  the  wife  of  Dr.  Thorne  should 
so  live.  But  all  this  was  a  matter  of  the  merest  specula- 
tion, for  he  was  well  aware — as  he  said  to  himself  a  dozen 
times — that  his  niece  had  blundered  strangely  in  her  read- 
ing of  Miss  Dunstable's  character. 

"When  the  Gresham  party  entered  the  anteroom  into 
which  the  staircase  opened,  they  found  Miss  Dunstable 
standing  there  surrounded  by  a  few  of  her  most  intimate 
allies.  Mrs.  Harold  Smith  was  sitting  quite  close  to  her ; 
Dr.  Easyman  was  reclining  on  a  sofa  against  the  wall,  and 
the  lady  who  habitually  lived  with  Miss  Dunstable  was  by 
his  side.  One  or  two  others  were  there  also,  so  that  a  lit- 
tle running  conversation  was  kept  up,  in  order  to  relieve 
Miss  Dunstable  of  the  tedium  which  might  otherwise  be  en- 
gendered by  the  work  she  had  in  hand.  As  Mrs.  Gresham, 
leaning  on  her  husband's  arm,  entered  the  room,  she  saw 
the  back  of  Mrs.  Proudie,  as  that  lady  made  her  way 
through  the  opposite  door  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  bishop. 

Mrs.  Harold  Smith  had  apparently  recovered  from  the 
annoyance  wliich  she  must  no  doubt  have  felt  when  Miss 
Dunstable  so  utterly  rejected  her  suit  on  behalf  of  her 
brother.  If  any  feeling  had  existed,  even  for  a  day,  calcu- 
lated to  put  a  stop  to  the  intimacy  between  the  two  ladies, 
that  feeling  had  altogether  died  away,  for  Mrs.  Harold 
Smith  Avas  conversing  with  her  friend  quite  in  the  old  way. 
She  made  some  remark  on  each  of  the  guests  as  they  pass- 
ed by,  and  apparently  did  so  in  a  manner  satisfactory  to 
the  owner  of  the  house,  for  Miss  Dunstable  answered  with 
her  kindest  smiles,  and  in  that  genial,  happy  tone  of  voice 
which  gave  its  peculiar  character  to  her  good-humor : 

"  She  is  quite  convinced  that  you  are  a  mere  plagiarist 
in  what  you  are  doing,"  said  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  speaking 
of  Mrs.  Proudie. 

"  And  so  I  am.  I  don't  suppose  there  can  be  any  thing 
very  original  nowadays  about  an  evening  party." 

"  But  she  thinks  you  are  copying  her." 

"  And  why  not  ?  I  copy  every  body  that  I  see  more  or 
less.  You  did  not  at  first  begin  to  wear  big  petticoats  out 
of  your  own  head.     If  Mrs.  Proudie  has  any  such  pride  as 


314  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

that,  pray  don't  rob  her  of  it.  Here's  the  doctor  and  the 
Greshams.  Mary,  my  darling,  how  are  you  ?"  and,  in  spite 
of  all  her  grandeur  of  apparel.  Miss  Dunstable  took  hold 
of  Mrs.  Gresham  and  kissed  her — to  the  disgust  of  the 
dozen  and  a  half  of  the  distinguished  fashionable  world 
who  w^ere  passing  up  the  stairs  behind. 

The  doctor  was  somewhat  repressed  in  his  mode  of  ad- 
dress by  the  communication  which  had  so  lately  been  made 
to  him.  Miss  Dunstable  w^as  now  standing  on  the  very 
top  of  the  pinnacle  of  wealth,  and  seemed  to  him  to  be  not 
only  so  much  above  his  reach,  but  also  so  far  removed  from 
his  track  in  life  that  he  could  not  in  any  way  put  himself 
on  a  level  with  her.  He  could  neither  aspire  so  high  nor 
descend  so  low ;  and  thinking  of  this,  he  spoke  to  Miss 
Dunstable  as  though  there  were  some  great  distance  be- 
tween them — as  though  there  had  been  no  hours  of  inti- 
mate friendship)  down  at  Greshamsbury.  There  had  been 
such  hours,  during  w^hich  Miss  Dunstable  and  Dr.  Thorne 
had  lived  as  though  they  belonged  to  the  same  world ;  and 
this,  at  any  rate,  may  be  said  of  Miss  Dunstable,  that  she 
had  no  idea  of  forgetting  them. 

Dr.  Thorne  merely  gave  her  his  hand,  and  then  prepared 
to  pass  on. 

"  Don't  go,  doctor,"  she  said ;  "  for  heaven's  sake,  don't 
go  yet.  I  don't  know  when  I  may  catch  you  if  you  get  in 
there.  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  follow  you  for  the  next  two 
hours.  Lady  Meredith,  I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you  for 
coming — your  mother  will  be  here,  I  hope.  Oh,  I  am  so 
glad !  From  her,  you  know,  that  is  quite  a  favor.  You, 
Sir  George,  are  half  a  sinner  yourself,  so  I  don't  think  so 
much  about  it." 

"  Oh,  quite  so,"  said  Sir  George ;  "  j^erhaps  rather  the 
largest  half" 

"The  men  divide  the  world  into  gods  and  giants,"  said 
Miss  Dunstable.  "We  women  have  our  divisions  also. 
We  are  saints  or  sinners  according  to  our  party.  The 
worst  of  it  is,  that  we  rat  almost  as  often  as  you  do." 
Whereupon  Sir  George  laughed  and  passed  on. 

"  I  know,  doctor,  you  don't  like  this  kind  of  thing,"  she 
continued,  "  but  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  indulge 
yourself  altogether  in  your  own  -way  more  than  another — 
is  there,  Frank?" 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  but  he  does  hke  it,"  said  Mr.  Gresh- 


FEAMLEY   PAKSONAGE.  315 

am.  "There  are  some  of  your  reputed  friends  whom  he 
owns  that  he  is  anxious  to  see." 

"  Are  there  ?  Then  there  is  some  hope  of  his  ratting 
too.  But  he'll  never  make  a  good  stanch  sinner ;  will  he, 
Mary  ?     You're  too  old  to  learn  new  tricks — eh,  doctor  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am,"  said  the  doctor,  with  a  faint  laugh. 

"Does  Dr.  Thorne  rank  himself  among  the  army  of 
saints?"  asked  Mrs.  Harold  Smith. 

"  Decidedly,"  said  Miss  Dunstable.  "  But  you  must  al- 
ways remember  that  there  are  saints  of  diflferent  orders ; 
are  there  not,  Mary  ?  and  nobody  supposes  that  the  Fran- 
ciscans and  the  Dominicans  agree  very  well  together.  Dr. 
Thorne  does  not  belong  to  the  school  of  St.  Proudie,  of 
Barchester;  he  would  prefer  the  priestess  whom  I  see 
coming  round  the  corner  of  the  staircase,  with  a  very  fa- 
mous young  novice  at  her  elbow." 

"  From  all  that  I  can  hear,  you  will  have  to  reckon  Miss 
Grantly  among  the  sinners,"  said  Mrs.  Harold  Smith — see- 
ing that  Lady  Lufton,  with  her  young  friend,  was  approach- 
ing— "  unless,  indeed,  you  can  make  a  saint  of  Lady  Har- 
tletop." 

And  then  Lady  Lufton  entered  the  room,  and  Miss  Dun- 
stable came  forward  to  meet  her  with  more  quiet  respect 
in  her  manner  than  she  had  as  yet  shown  to  many  of  her 
guests.  "I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  coming,  Lady 
Lufton,"  she  said,  "and  the  more  so  for  bringing  Miss 
Grantly  with  you." 

Lady  Lufton  uttered  some  pretty  little  speech,  during 
which  Dr.  Thorne  came  up  and  shook  hands  with  her,  as 
did  also  Frank  Gresham  and  his  wife.  There  was  a  coun- 
ty acquaintance  betw^een  the  Framley  people  and  the  Gresh- 
amsbury  people,  and  therefore  there  was  a  little  general 
conversation  before  Lady  Lufton  passed  out  of  the  small 
room  into  what  Mrs.  Proudie  would  have  called  the  noble 
suite  of  apartments.  "  Papa  will  be  here,"  said  Miss  Grant- 
ly ;  "  at  least  so  I  understand.  I  have  not  seen  him  yet 
myself" 

"Oh  yes,  he  has  promised  me,"  said  Miss  Dunstable, 
"  and  the  archdeacon,  I  know,  will  keep  his  word.  I  should 
by  no  means  have  the  proper  ecclesiastical  balance  with- 
out him." 

"  Papa  always  does  keep  his  word,"  said  Miss  Grantly, 
in  a  tone  that  was  almost  severe.     She  had  not  at  all  un- 


316  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

derstood  poor  Miss  Dunstable's  little  joke,  or,  at  any  rate, 
she  was  too  dignified  to  respond  to  it. 

"  I  understand  that  old  Sir  John  is  to  accept  the  Chiltern 
Hundreds  at  once,"  said  Lady  Lufton,  in  a  half  whisper  to 
Frank  Gresham.  Lady  Lufton  had  always  taken  a  keen 
interest  in  the  politics  of  East  Barsetshire,  and  was  now 
desirous  of  expressing  her  satisfaction  that  a  Gresham 
should  again  sit  for  the  county.  The  Greshams  had  been 
old  county  members  in  Barsetshire  time  out  of  mind. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  believe  so,"  said  Frank,  blushing.  He  was 
still  young  enough  to  feel  almost  ashamed  of  putting  him- 
self forward  for  such  high  honors. 

"There  will  be  no  contest,  of  course,"  said  Lady  Luf- 
ton, confidentially.  "  There  seldom  is  in  East  Barsetshire, 
I  am  happy  to  say.  But  if  there  were,  every  tenant  at 
Framley  would  vote  on  the  right  side,  I  can  assure  you 
of  that.  Lord  Lufton  was  saying  so  to  me  only  this 
morning." 

Frank  Gresham  made  a  pretty  little  speech  in  reply, 
such  as  young  sucking  politicians  are  expected  to  make ; 
and  this,  with  sundry  other  small  courteous  murmurings, 
detained  the  Lufton  party  for  a  minute  or  two  in  the  ante- 
chamber. In  the  mean  time  the  world  was  pressing  on 
and  passing  through  to  the  four  or  five  large  reception- 
rooms — the  noble  suite,  which  was  already  piercing  poor 
Mrs.  Proudie's  heart  with  envy  to  the  very  core.  "  These 
are  the  sort  of  rooms,"  she  said  to  herself  unconsciously, 
"  which  ought  to  be  provided  by  the  country  for  the  use 
of  its  bishops." 

"  But  the  people  are  not  brought  enough  together,"  she 
said  to  her  lord. 

"  No,  no,  I  don't  think  they  are,"  said  the  bishop. 

"And  that  is  so  essential  for  a  conversazione,"  continued 
Mrs.  Proudie.  "  Now  in  Gloucester  Place — "  But  we 
will  not  record  all  her  adverse  criticisms,  as  Lady  Lufton 
is  waiting  for  us  in  the  anteroom. 

And  now  another  arrival  of  moment  had  taken  place — 
an  arrival  indeed  of  very  great  moment.  To  tell  the  truth. 
Miss  Dunstable's  heart  had  been  set  upon  having  two  spe- 
cial persons  ;  and  though  no  stone  had  been  left  unturned 
— no  stone  which  could  be  turned  with  discretion — she 
was  still  left  in  doubt  as  to  both  these  two  wondrous  po- 
tentates.    At  the  very  moments  of  which  we  are  now 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  317 

speaking,  light  and  airy  as  slie  appeared  to  be — for  it  was 
her  character  to  be  light  and  airy — her  mind  was  torn  with 
doubts.  If  the  wished-for  two  would  come,  her  evening 
would  be  thoroughly  successful ;  but  if  not,  all  her  trouble 
would  have  been  thrown  away,  and  the  thing  would  have 
been  a  failure;  and  there  were  circumstances  connected 
with  the  present  assembly  which  made  Miss  Dunstable 
very  anxious  that  she  should  not  fail.  That  the  two 
great  ones  of  the  earth  were  Tom  Towers  of  the  Ju2n- 
ter^  and  the  Duke  x)f  Omnium,  need  hardly  be  expressed 
in  words. 

And  now,  at  this  very  moment,  as  Lady  Lufton  was 
making  her  civil  speeches  to  young  Gresham,  apparently 
in  no  hurry  to  move  on,  and  while  Miss  Dunstable  was 
endeavoring  to  whisper  something  into  the  doctor's  ear 
which  would  make  him  feel  himself  at  home  in  this  new 
world,  a  sound  was  heard  which  made  that  lady  know  that 
half  her  wish  had  at  any  rate  been  granted  to  her.  A 
sound  was  heard,  but  only  by  her  own  and  one  other  at- 
tentive pair  of  ears.  Mrs.  Harold  Smith  had  also  caught 
the  name,  and  knew  that  the  duke  was  apj^roaching. 

There  was  great  glory  and  triumph  in  this;  but  why 
had  his  grace  come  at  so  unchancy  a  moment?  Miss  Dun- 
stable had  been  fully  aware  of  the  impropriety  of  bringing 
Lady  Lufton  and  the  Duke  of  Omnium  into  the  same  house 
at  the  same  time ;  but  when  she  had  asked  Lady  Lufton, 
she  had  been  led  to  believe  that  there  was  no  hope  of  ob- 
taining the  duke ;  and  then,  when  that  hope  had  dawned 
upon  her,  she  had  comforted  herself  with  the  reflection 
that  the  two  suns,  though  they  might  for  some  few  min- 
utes be  in  the  same  hemisphere,  could  hardly  be  expected 
to  clash)  or  come  across  each  other's  orbits.  Her  rooms 
were  large,  and* would  be  crowded;  the  duke  would  prob- 
ably do  little  more  than  walk  through  them  once,  and  Lady 
Lufton  would  certainly  be  surrounded  by  persons  of  her 
own  class.  Thus  Miss  Dunstable  had  comforted  herself. 
But  now  all  things  were  going  wrong,  and  Lady  Lufton 
would  find  herself  in  close  contiguity  to  the  nearest  repre- 
sentative of  Satanic  agency,  which,  according  to  her  ideas, 
was  allowed  to  walk  this  nether  English  world  of  ours. 
Would  she  scream,  or  indignantly  retreat  out  of  the  house? 
or  would  she  proudly  raise  her  head,  and  with  outstretch- 
ed hand  and  audible  voice  boldly  defy  the  devil  and  all  his 


318  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

works  ?  In  thinking  of  these  things  as  the  duke  approach- 
ed, Miss  Dunstable  almost  lost  her  presence  of  mind. 

But  Mrs.  Harold  Smith  did  not  lose  hers.  "  So  here  at 
last  is  the  duke,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  intended  to  catch  the 
express  attention  of  Lady  Lufton. 

Mrs.  Smith  had  calculated  that  there  might  still  be  time 
for  her  ladyship  to  pass  on  and  avoid  the  interview.  But 
Lady  Lufton,  if  she  heard  the  words,  did  not  completely 
understand  them.  At  any  rate,  they  did  not  convey  to 
her  mind  at  the  moment  the  meaning  they  were  intended 
to  convey.  She  jDaused  to  whisper  a  last  little  speech  to 
Frank  Gresham,  and  then,  looking  round,  found  that  the 
gentleman  who  Avas  pressing  against  her  dress  was — the 
Duke  of  Omnium ! 

On  this  great  occasion,  when  the  misfortune  could  no 
longer  be  avoided.  Miss  Dunstable  was  by  no  means  be- 
neath herself  or  her  character.  She  deplored  the  calamity, 
but  she  now  saw  that  it  was  only  left  to  her  to  make  the 
best  of  it.  The  duke  had  honored  her  by  coming  to  her 
house,  and  she  was  bound  to  welcome  him,  though  in  doing 
so  she  should  bring  Lady  Lufton  to  her  last  gasp. 

"Duke,"  she  said,  "I  am  greatly  honored  by  this  kind- 
ness on  the  part  of  your  grace.  I  hardly  expected  that 
you  would  be  so  good  to  me." 

"  The  goodness  is  all  on  the  other  side,"  said  the  duke, 
bowing  over  her  hand. 

And  then,  in  the  usual  course  of  things,  this  would  have 
been  all.  The  duke  would  have  walked  on  and  shown 
himself,  would  have  said  a  word  or  two  to  Lady  Hartle- 
top,  to  the  bishop,  to  Mr.  Gresham,  and  such  like,  and 
would  then  have  left  the  rooms  by  another  way,  and  qui- 
etly escaped.  This  was  the  duty  expected  from  him,  and 
this  he  would  have  done,  and  the  value  of  the  party  would 
have  been  increased  thirty  per  cent,  by  such  doing ;  but 
now,  as  it  was,  the  newsmongers  of  the  West  End  were 
likely  to  get  much  more  out  of  him. 

Circumstances  had  so  turned  out  that  he  had  absolutely 
been  pressed  close  against  Lady  Lufton,  and  she,  when  she 
heard  the  voice,  and  was  made  positively  acquainted  with 
the  fact  of  the  great  man's  presence  by  Miss  Dunstable's 
words,  turned  round  quickly,  but  still  with  much  feminine 
dignity,  removing  her  dress  from  the  contact.  In  doing 
this  she  was  brought  absolutely  face  to  face  with  the  duke, 


LADV    JX'FTON    ANI>    TII5i    DUKE    OF    OMNIUM. 


FBAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  321 

SO  that  each  could  not  but  look  full  at  the  other.  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,"  said  the  duke.  They  were  the  only  words 
that  had  ever  passed  between  them,  nor  have  they  spoken 
to  each  other  shice ;  but,  simple  as  they  were,  accompanied 
by  the  little  by-play  of  the  speakers,  they  gave  rise  to  a 
considerable  amount  of  ferment  in  the  fashionable  world. 
Lady  Lufton,  as  she  retreated  back  on  to  Dr.  Easyman, 
courtesied  low ;  she  courtesied  low  and  slowly,  and  with  a 
haughty  arrangement  of  her  drapery  that  was  all  her  own ; 
but  the  courtesy,  though  it  was  eloquent,  did  not  say  half 
so  much — did  not  reprobate  the  habitual  iniquities  of  the 
duke  with  a  voice  nearly  as  potent  as  that  which  was  ex- 
pressed in  the  gradual  fall  of  her  eye  and  the  gradual  press- 
ure of  her  lips.  When  she  commenced  her  courtesy  she 
was  looking  full  in  her  foe's  face.  By  the  time  that  she 
had  completed  it  her  eyes  were  turned  upon  the  ground, 
but  there  was  an  ineffable  amount  of  scorn  expressed  in 
the  lines  of  her  mouth.  She  spoke  no  word,  and  retreated, 
as  modest  virtue  and  feminine  weakness  must  ever  retreat, 
before  barefaced  vice  and  virile  power ;  but  nevertheless 
she  was  held  by  all  the  world  to  have  had  the  best  of  the 
encounter.  The  duke,  as  he  begged  her  pardon,  wore  in 
his  countenance  that  expression  of  moaified  sorrow  which 
is  common  to  any  gentleman  who  is  supposed  by  himself 
to  have  incommoded  a  lady.  But  over  and  above  this — or 
rather  under  it — there  was  a  slight  smile  of  derision,  as 
though  it  were  impossible  for  him  to  look  upon  the.  bear- 
ing of  Lady  Lufton  without  some  amount  of  ridicule.  All 
this  was  legible  to  eyes  so  keen  as  those  of  Miss  Dunstable 
and  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  and  the  duke  was  known  to  be  a 
master  of  this  silent  inward  sarcasm;  but  even  by  them— 
by  Miss  Dunstable  and  Mrs.  Harold  Smith — it  was  admit- 
ted that  Lady  Lufton  had  conquered.  When  her  ladyship 
again  looked  up,  the  duke  had  passed  on;  she  then  re- 
sumed the  care  of  Miss  Grantly's  hand,  and  followed  in 
among  the  company. 

"  That  is  what  I  call  unfortunate,"  said  Miss  Dunstable, 
as  soon  as  both  belligerents  had  departed  from  the  field 
of  battle.     "The  fates  sometimes  will  be  against  one." 

"But  they  have  not  been  at  all  against  you  here,"  said 
Mrs.  Harold  Smith.  "If  you  could  arrive  at  her  ladyship's 
private  thoughts  to-morrow  morning,  you  would  find  her 
to  be  quite  happy  in  having  met  the  duke.     It  will  be 

O  2 


322  FBAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

years  before  she  has  done  boasting  of  her  triumph,  and  it 
will  be  talked  of  by  the  young  ladies  of  Framley  for  the 
next  three  generations." 

The  Gresham  party,  including  Dr.  Thorne,  had  remained 
in  the  ante-chamber  during  the  battle.  The  whole  combat 
did  not  occupy  above  two  minutes,  and  the  three  of  them 
were  hemmed  off  from  escape  by  Lady  Lufton's  retreat  into 
Dr.  Easyman's  lap  ;  but  now  they,  too,  essayed  to  pass  on. 

"  What,  you  will  desert  me,"  said  Miss  Dunstable. 
"Very  well;  but  I  shall  find  you  out  by-and-by.  Frank, 
there  is  to  be  some  dancing  in  one  of  the  rooms — -just  to 
distinguish  the  affair  from  Mrs.  Proudie's  conversazione. 
It  would  be  stupid,  you  know,  if  all  conversaziones  were 
alike ;  wouldn't  it  ?     So  I  hope  you  will  go  and  dance." 

"  There  will,  I  presume,  be  another  variation  at  feeding- 
time,"  said  Mrs.  Harold  Smith. 

"  Oh  yes,  certainly ;  I  am  the  most  vulgar  of  all  wretches 
in  that  respect.  I  do  love  to  set  people  eating  and  drink- 
ing. Mr.  Supplehouse,  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  ;  but  do 
tell  me — "  and  then  she  whispered  with  great  energy  into 
the  ear  of  Mr.  Supplehouse,  and  Mr.  Supplehouse  again 
whispered  into  he^  ear.  "  You  think  he  will,  then  ?"  said 
Miss  Dunstable. 

Mr.  Supplehouse  assented ;  he  did  think  so,  but  he  had 
no  warrant  for  stating  the  circumstance  as  a  fact.  And 
then  he  passed  on,  hardly  looking  at  3Irs.  Harold  Smith  as 
he  passed. 

"  What  a  hang-dog  countenance  he  has,"  said  that  lady. 

"Ah!  you're  prejudiced,  my  dear,  arid  no  Avonder;  as 
for  myself,  I  always  liked  Supplehouse.  He  means  mis- 
chief; but  then  mischief  is  his  trade,  and  he  does  not  con- 
ceal it.  If  I  were  a  politician,  I  should  as  soon  think  of 
being  angry  with  Mr.  Supplehouse  for  turning  against  me 
as  I  am  now  with  a  pin  for  pricking  me.  It's  my  own 
awkwardness,  and  I  ought  to  have  known  how  to  use  the 
pin  more  craftily." 

"But  you  must  detest  a  man  who  professes  to  stand  by 
his  party,  and  then  does  his  best  to  ruin  it." 

"  So  many  have  done  that,  my  dear,  and  with  much  more 
success  than  Mr.  Supplehouse !  All  is  fair  in  love  and  war 
— why  not  add  politics  to  the  list  ?  If  we  could  only  agree 
to  do  that,  it  would  save  us  from  such  a  deal  of  heartburn- 
ing, and  would  make  none  of  us  a  bit  the  worse.'* 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  323 

Miss  Dunstable's  rooms,  large  as  they  were — "  a  noble 
suite  of  rooms,  certainly,  though  perhaps  a  little  too — too 
— too  scattered,  we  will  say,  eh !  bishop  ?"  —  were  now 
nearly  full,  and  would  have  been  inconveniently  crowded 
were  it  not  that  many  who  came  only  remained  for  half  an 
hour  or  so.  Space,  however,  had  been  kept  for  the  dancers 
— much  to  Mrs.  Proudie's  consternation.  Not  that  she  dis- 
approved of  dancing  in  London  as  a  rule,  but  she  was  in- 
dignant that  the  laws  of  a  conversazione,  as  re-established 
by  herself  in  the  fashionable  world,  should  be  so  violently 
infringed. 

"Conversaziones  will  come  to  mean  nothing,"  she  said 
to  the  bishop,  putting  great  stress  on  the  latter  word,  "noth- 
ing at  all,  if  they  are  to  be  treated  in  this  way." 

"  No,  they  won't ;  nothing  in  the  least,"  said  the  bishop. 

"Dancing  may  be  very  well  in  its  place,"  said  Mrs. 
Proud  ie. 

"  I  have  never  objected  to  it  myself — that  is,  for  the 
laity,"  said  the  bishop. 

"  But  when  people  profess  to  assemble  for  higher  ob- 
jects," said  Mrs.  Proudie,  "  they  ought  to  act  up  to  their 
professions." 

"  Otherwise  they  are  no  better  than  hypocrites,"  said  the 
bishop. 

"  A  spade  should  be  called  a  spade,"  said  Mrs.  Proudie. 

"  Decidedly,"  said  the  bishop,  assenting, 

"  And  when  I  undertook  the  trouble  and  expense  of  in- 
troducing conversaziones,"  continued  Mrs.  Proudie,  with 
an  evident  feeling  that  she  had  been  ill  used,  "  I  had  no 
idea  of  seeing  the  word  so — so — so  misinterpreted  ;"  and 
then  observing  certain  desirable  acquaintances  at  the  other 
side  of  the  room,  she  went  across,  leaving  the  bishop  to 
fend  for  himself 

Lady  Lufton,  having  achieved  her  success,  passed  on  to 
the  dancing,  whither  it  was  not  probable  that  her  enemy 
would  follow  her,  and  she  had  not  been  there  very  long  be- 
fore she  was  joined  by  her  son.  Her  heart  at  the  present 
moment  was  not  quite  satisfied  at  the  state  of  affairs  with 
reference  to  Griselda.  She  had  gone  so  far  as  to  tell  her 
young  friend  what  were  her  own  wishes ;  she  had  declared 
her  desire  that  Griselda  should  become  her  daughter-in- 
law  ;  but  in  answer  to  this  Griselda  herself  had  declared 
nothing.     It  was,  to  be  sure,  no  more  than  natural  that  a 


324  PBAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

young  lady  so  well  brought  up  as  Miss  Grantly  should 
show  no  signs  of  a  passion  till  she  was  warranted  in  show- 
ing them  by  the  proceedings  of  the  gentleman ;  but,  not- 
withstanding this — fully  aware  as  she  was  of  the  propriety 
of  such  reticence — Lady  Lufton  did  think  that  to  her  Gri- 
selda  might  have  spoken  some  word  evincing  that  the  alli- 
ance would  be  satisfactory  to  her.  Griselda,  however,  had 
spoken  no  such  word,  nor  had  she  uttered  a  syllable  to 
show  that  she  would  accept  Lord  Lufton  if  he  did  offer. 
Then,  again,  she  had  uttered  no  syllable  to  show  that  she 
would  not  accept  him;  but,  nevertheless,  although  she 
knew  that  the  world  had  been  talking  about  her  and  Lord 
Dumbello,  she  stood  up  to  dance  with  the  future  marquess 
on  every  possible  occasion.  All  this  did  give  annoyance  to 
Lady  Lufton,  who  began  to  bethink  herself  that  if  she  could 
not  quickly  bring  her  little  plan  to  a  favorable  issue,  it 
might  be  well  for  her  to  wash  her  hands  of  it.  She  was 
still  anxious  for  the  match  on  her  son's  account.  Griselda 
would,  she  did  not  doubt,  make  a  good  wife ;  but  Lady 
Lufton  was  not  so  sure  as  she  once  had  been  that  she  her- 
self would  be  able  to  keep  up  so  strong  a  feeling  for  her 
daughter-in-law  as  she  had  hitherto  hoped  to  do. 

"  Ludovic,  have  you  been  here  long  ?"  she  said,  smiling 
as  she  always  did  smile  when  her  eyes  fell  upon  her  son's 
face. 

"  This  instant  arrived ;  and  I  hurried  on  after  you,  as 
Miss  Dunstable  told  me  that  you  were  here.  What  a  crowd 
she  has !     Did  you  see  Lord  Brock?" 

"  I  did  not  observe  him." 

"  Or  Lord  De  Terrier  ?  I  saw  them  both  in  the  centre 
room." 

"  Lord  De  Terrier  did  me  the  honor  of  shaking  hands 
with  me  as  I  passed  through." 

"  I  never  saw  such  a  mixture  of  people.  There  is  Mrs. 
Proudie  going  out  of  her  mind  because  you  are  all  going, 
to  dance." 

''  The  Miss  Proudies  dance,"  said  Griselda  Grantly. 

*'  But  not  at  conversaziones.  You  don't  see  the  differ- 
ence. And  I  saw  Spermoil  there,  looking  as  pleased  as 
Punch.  He  had  quite  a  circle  of  his  own  round  him,  and 
was  chattering  away  as  though  he  were  quite  accustomed 
to  the  Avickedness  of  the  world." 

"There  certainly  are  people  enough  here  whom  one 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  325 

would  not  have  wished  to  meet,  had  one  thought  of  it," 
said  Lady  Lufton,  mindful  of  her  late  engagement. 

"But  it  must  be  all  right,  for  I  walked  up  the  stairs 
with  the  archdeacon.  That  is  an  absolute  proof;  is  it  not. 
Miss  Grantly?" 

"I  have  no  fears.  When  I  am  with  your  mother  I 
know  I  must  be  safe." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Lord  Lufton,  laughing. 
"  Mother,  you  hardly  know  the  worst  of  it  yet.  Who  is 
here,  do  you  think  ?" 

"  I  know  whom  you  mean ;  I  have  seen  him,"  said  Lady 
Lufton,  very  quietly. 

"  We  came  across  him  just  at  the  top  of  the  stairs,"  said 
Griselda,  with  more  animation  in  her  face  than  ever  Lord 
Lufton  had  seen  there  before. 

"What,  the  duke?" 

"  Yes,  the  duke,"  said  Lady  Lufton.  "  I  certainly  should 
not  have  come  had  I  expected  to  be  brought  in  contact 
with  that  man.  But  it  was  an  accident,  and  on  such  an 
occasion  as  this  it  could  not  be  helped." 

Lord  Lufton  at  once  perceived  by  the  tone  of  his  moth- 
er's voice  and  by  the  shades  of  her  countenance  that  she 
had  absolutely  endured  some  personal  encounter  with  the 
duke,  and  also  that  she  was  by  no  means  so  indignant  at 
the  occurrence  as  might  have  been  expected.  There  she 
was,  still  in  Miss  Dunstable's  house,  and  expressing  no  an- 
ger as  to  Miss  Dunstable's  conduct.  Lord  Lufton  could 
hardly  have  been  more  surprised  had  he  seen  the  duke 
handing  his  mother  down  to  supper;  he  said,  however, 
nothing  farther  on  the  subject. 

"  Are  you  going  to  dance,  Ludovic  ?"  said  Lady  Lufton. 

"Well,  I  am  not  sure  that  I  do  not  agree  with  Mrs. 
Proudie  in  thinking  that  dancing  would  contaminate  a 
conversazione.     What  are  your  ideas.  Miss  Grantly  ?" 

Griselda  was  never  very  good  at  a  joke,  and  imagined 
that  Lord  Lufton  wanted  to  escape  the  trouble  of  dancing 
Avith  her.  This  angered  her.  For  the  only  species  of 
love-making,  or  flirtation,  or  sociability  between  herself 
as  a  young  lady,  and  any  other  self  as  a  young  gentleman, 
which  recommended  itself  to  her  taste,  was  to  be  found  in 
the  amusement  of  dancing.  She  was  altogether  at  vari- 
ance with  Mrs.  Proudie  on  this  matter,  and  gave  Miss  Dun- 
stable great  credit  for  her  innovation.     In  society  Grisel- 


326  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

da's  toes  were  more  serviceable  to  her  than  her  tongue, 
and  she  was  to  be  won  by  a  rapid  twirl  much  more  prob- 
ably than  by  a  soft  word.  The  offer  of  which  she  would 
approve  would  be  conveyed  by  two  all  but  breathless 
words  during  a  spasmodic  pause  in  a  waltz ;  and  then,  as 
she  lifted  up  her  arm  to  receive  the  accustomed  support 
at  her  back,  she  might  just  find  power  enough  to  say, 
"  You — must  ask — papa."  After  that  she  would  not  care 
to  have  the  affair  mentioned  till  every  thing  was  properly 
settled. 

"I  have  not  thought  about  it,"  said  Griselda,  turning 
her  face  away  from  Lord  Lufton. 

It  must  not,  however,  be  supposed  that  Miss  Grantly  had 
not  thought  about  Lord  Lufton,  or  that  she  had  not  con- 
sidered how  great  might  be  the  advantage  of  having  Lady 
Lufton  on  her  side  if  she  made  up  her  mind  that  she  did 
wush  to  become  Lord  Lufton's  wife.  She  knew  well  that 
now  was  her  time  for  a  triumph — now,  in  this  very  first 
season  of  her  acknowledged  beauty ;  and  she  knew  also 
that  young,  good-looking  bachelor  lords  do  not  grow  on 
hedges  like  blackberries.  Had  Lord  Lufton  offered  to  her, 
she  would  have  accepted  him  at  once  Avithout  any  remorse 
as  to  the  greater  glories  which  might  appertain  to  a  future 
marchioness  of  Hartletop.  In  that  dii'ection  she  was  not 
without  sufficient  wisdom.  But  then  Lord  Lufton  had  not 
offered  to  her,  nor  given  any  signs  that  he  intended  to  do 
so;  and,  to  give  Griselda  Grantly  her  due,  she  was  not  a 
girl  to  make  a  first  overture.  Neither  had  Lord  Dumbello 
offered ;  but  he  had  given  signs — dumb  signs,  such  as 
birds  give  to  each  other,  quite  as  intelligible  as  verbal 
signs  to  a  girl  who  preferred  the  use  of  her  toes  to  that 
of  her  tongue. 

^'  I  have  not  thought  about  it,"  said  Griselda,  very  cold- 
ly, and  at  that  moment  a  gentleman  stood  before  her  and 
asked  her  hand  for  the  next  dance.  It  was  Lord  Dumbel- 
lo ;  and  Griselda,  making  no  reply  except  by  a  slight  bow, 
got  up  and  put  her  hand  within  her  partner's  arm. 

"Shall  I  find  you  here.  Lady  Lufton,  when  we  have 
done  ?"  she  said ;  and  then  started  among  the  dancers. 
When  the  work  before  one  is  dancing,  the  proper  thing 
for  a  gentleman  to  do  is,  at  any  rate,  to  ask  a  lady ;  this 
proper  thing  Lord  Lufton  had  omitted,  and  now  the  prize 
was  taken  away  from  under  his  very  nose. 


PRAMLET   PARSONAGE.  327 

There  was  clearly  an  air  of  triumph  about  Lord  Dum- 
bello  as  he  walked  away  with  the  beauty.  The  world  had 
been  saying  that  Lord  Lufton  was  to  marry  her,  and  the 
world  had  also  been  saying  that  Lord  Dumbello  admired 
her.  Now  this  had  angered  Lord  Dumbello,  and  made 
him  feel  as  though  he  walked  about,  a  mark  of  scorn,  as  a 
disappointed  suitor.  Had  it  not  been  for  Lord  Lufton,  per- 
haps he  would  not  have  cared  so  much  for  Griselda  Grant- 
ly ;  but  circumstances  had  so  turned  out  that  he  did  care 
for  her,  and  felt  it  to  be  incumbent  upon  him  as  the  heir 
to  a  marquisate  to  obtain  what  he  wanted,  let  who  would 
have  a  hankering  after  the  same  article.  It  is  in  this  way 
that  pictures  are  so  well  sold  at  auctions ;  and  Lord  Dum- 
bello regarded  Miss  Grantly  as  being  now  subject  to  the 
auctioneer's  hammer,  and  conceived  that  Lord  Lufton  was 
bidding  against  him.  There  was,  therefore,  an  air  of  tri- 
umph about  him  as  he  put  his  arm  round  Griselda's  waist 
and  whirled  her  up  and  down  the  room  in  obedience  to 
the  music. 

Lady  Lufton  and  her  son  were  left  together  looking  at 
each  other.  Of  course  he  had  intended  to  ask  Griselda  to 
dance,  but  it  can  not  be  said  that  he  very  much  regretted 
his  disappointment.  Of  course  also  Lady  Lufton  had  ex- 
pected that  her  son  and  Griselda  would  stand  up  together, 
and  she  was  a  little  inclined  to  be  angry  with  hcv  protegee. 

"  I  think  she  might  have  waited  a  minute,"  said  Lady 
Lufton. 

"  But  why,  mother?  TherQ  are  certain  things  for  which 
no  one  ever  waits :  to  give  a  friend,  for  instance,  the  first 
passage  through  a  gate  out  hunting,  and  such  like.  Miss 
Grantly  was  quite  right  to  take  the  first  that  offered." 

Lady  Lufton  had  determined  to  learn  what  was  to  be  the 
end  of  this  scheme  of  hers.  She  could  not  have  Griselda 
always  with  her,  and  if  any  thing  were  to  be  arranged  it 
must  be  arranged  now,  while  both  of  them  were  in  Lon- 
don. At  the  close  of  the  season  Griselda  would  return  to 
Plumstead,  and  Lord  Lufton  would  go — nobody  as  yet 
knew  where.  It  would  be  useless  to  look  forward  to  far- 
ther opportunities.  If  they  did  not  contrive  to  love  each 
other  now,  they  Avould  never  do  so.  Lady  Lufton  was  be- 
ginning to  fear  that  her  plan  would  not  work;  but  she 
made  up  her  mind' that  she  would  learn  the  truth  then  and 
there — at  least  as  far  as  her  son  was  concerned. 


328  FRAMLEY  PARSON AGEi 

"  Oil  yes,  quite  so ;  if  it  is  equal  to  her  with  which  she 
dances,"  said  Lady  Lufton. 

"  Quite  equal,  I  should  think — unless  it  be  that  Dum- 
bello  is  longer-w^inded  than  I  am." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  speak  of  her  in  that  way,  Lu- 
dovic." 

"  Why  sorry,  mother  ?" 

"  Because  I  had  hoped — that  you  and  she  would  have 
liked  each  other."  This  she  said  in  a  serious  tone  of  voice, 
tender  and  sad,  looking  up  into  his  face  with  a  plaintive 
gaze,  as  though  she  knew  that  she  were  asking  of  him  some 
great  favor. 

"  Yes,  mother,  I  have  known  that  you  have  wished  that." 

"  You  have  known  it,  Ludovic !" 

"  Oh  dear,  yes ;  you  are  not  at  all  sharp  at  keeping  your 
secrets  from  me.  And,  mother,  at  one  time,  for  a  day  or 
so,  I  thought  that  I  could  oblige  you.  You  have  been  so 
good  to  me  that  I  would  almost  do  any  thing  for  you." 

"  Oh  no,  no,  no,"  she  said,  deprecating  his  j^raise,  and 
the  sacrifice  which  he  seemed  to  offer  of  his  own  hopes  and 
aspirations.  "I  would  not  for  worlds  have  you  do  so  for 
my  sake.  No  mother  ever  had  a  better  son,  and  my  only 
ambition  is  for  your  happiness." 

"  But,  mother,  she  would  not  make  me  happy.  I  was 
mad  enough  for  a  moment  to  think  that  she  coufd  do  so — 
for  a  moment  I  did  think  so.  There  w^as  one  occasion  on 
which  I  would  have  asked  her  to  take  me,  but — " 

"But  what,  Ludovic?" 

"Never  mind;  it  passed  aw^ay;  and  now  I  shall  never 
ask  her.  Indeed,  I  do  not  think  she  would  have  me.  She 
is  ambitious,  and  flying  at  higher  game  than  I  am.  And  I 
must  say  this  for  her,  that  she  knows  well  what  she  is  do- 
ing, and  plays  her  cards  as  though  she  had  been  born  with 
them  in  her  hand." 

"  You  will  never  ask  her  ?" 

"No,  mother ;  had  I  done  so,  it  would  have  been  for  love 
of  you — only  for  love  of  you." 

"  I  Avould  not  for  worlds  that  you  should  do  that." 
\     "Let  her  have  Dumbello;  she  will  make  an  excellent 
'wife  for  him — -just  the  wife  that  he  will  want.     And  you — 
you  will  have  been  so  good  to  her  in  assisting  her  to  such 
a  matter." 

"  But,  Ludovic,  I  am  so  anxious  to  see  you  settled." 


TRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  329 

"  All  in  good  time,  mother." 

"  Ah !  but  the  good  time  is  passing  away.  Years  run 
so  very  quickly.  I  hope  you  think  about  marrying,  Lu- 
dovic." 

"  But,  mother,  what  if  I  brought  you  a  wife  that  you  did 
not  approve  ?" 

"  I  will  approve  of  any  one  that  you  love ;  that  is — " 

"  That  is,  if  you  love  her  also ;  eh  !  mother?" 

"  But  I  rely  with  such  confidence  on  your  taste.  I  know 
that  you  can  like  no  one  that  is  not  lady-like  and  good." 

"  Lady-like  and  good !  Will  that  suffice  ?"  said  he,  think- 
ing of  Lucy  Robarts. 

"  Yes,  it  will  sufiice,  if  you  love  her.  I  don't  want  you 
to  care  for  money.  Griselda  will  have  a  fortune  that  would 
have  been  convenient ;  but  I  do  not  wish  you  to  care  for 
that."  And  thus,  as  they  stood  together  in  Miss  Dun- 
stable's crowded  room,  the  mother  and  son  settled  between 
themselves  tliat  the  Lufton-Grantly  alliance  treaty  was  not 
to  be  ratified.  "  I  sujipose  I  must  let  Mrs.  Grantly  know," 
said  Lady  Lufton  to  herself,  as  Griselda  returned  to  her 
side.  There  had  not  been  above  a  dozen  words  spoken 
between  Lord  Dumbello  and  his  partner,  but  that  young 
lady  also  had  now  fully  made  up  her  mind  that  the  treaty 
above  mentioned  sliould  never  be  brought  into  operation. 

We  must  go  back  to  our  hostess,  whom  we  should  not 
have  left  for  so  long  a  time,  seeing  that  this  chapter  is  writ- 
ten to  show  how  well  she  could  conduct  herself  in  great 
emergencies.  She  had  declared  that  after  a  while  she  would 
be  able  to  leave  her  position  near  the  entrance-door,  and 
find  out  her  own  peculiar  friends  among  the  crowd,  but  the 
opportunity  for  doing  so  did  not  come  till  very  late  in  the 
evening.  There  was  a  continuation  of  arrivals ;  she  was 
wearied  to  death  with  making  little  si^eeches,  and  had  more 
than  once  declared  that  she  must  depute  Mrs.  Harold  Smith 
to  take  her  place. 

That  lady  stuck  to  her  through  all  her  labors  with  admi- 
rable constancy,  and  made  the  work  bearable.  Without 
some  such  constancy  on  a  friend's  part,  it  would  have  been 
unbearable.  And  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  this  was 
much  to  the  credit  of  Mrs.  Harold  Smith.  Her  own  hopes 
with  reference  to  the  great  heiress  had  all  been  shattered, 
and  her  answer  had  been  given  to  her  in  very  plain  lan- 
guage.    But,  nevertheless,  she  was  true  to  her  friendship, 


330  FKAMLEY  PAESONAGE. 

and  was  almost  as  willmg  to  endure  fatigue  on  the  occa- 
sion as  though  she  had  a  sister-in-law's  right  in  the  house. 

At  about  one  o'clock  her  brother  came.  He  had  not 
yet  seen  Miss  Dunstable  since  the  oiFer  had  been  made, 
and  had  now,  with  difficulty,  been  persuaded  by  his  sister 
to  show  himself. 

"What  can  be  the  use?"  said  he.  "The  game  is  up 
with  me  now;"  meaning,  poor,  ruined  ne'er-do-well,  not 
only  that  that  game  with  Miss  Dunstable  was  up,  but  that 
the  great  game  of  his  whole  life  was  being  brought  to  an 
uncomfortable  termination. 

"  Nonsense,*'  said  his  sister.  "  Do  you  mean  to  despair 
because  a  man  like  the  Duke  of  Omnium  wants  his  money  ? 
What  has  been  good  security  for  him  will  be  good  security 
for  another;"  and  then  Mrs. Harold  Smith  made  herself 
more  agreeable  than  ever  to  Miss  Dunstable. 

When  Miss  Dunstable  was  nearly  worn  out,  but  was 
still  endeavoring  to  buoy  herself  up  by  a  hope  of  the  stilL 
expected  great  arrival — for  she  knew  that  the  hero  would 
show  himself  only  at  a  very  late  hour  if  it  were  to  be  her 
good  fortune  that  he  showed  himself  at  all — Mr.  Sowerby 
walked  up  the  stairs.  He  had  schooled  himself  to  go 
through  this  ordeal  with  all  the  cool  efirontery  which  was 
at  his  command ;  but  it  was  clearly  to  be  seen  that  all  his 
effrontery  did  not  stand  him  in  sufficient  stead,  and  that 
the  interview  would  have  been  embarrassing  had  it  not 
been  for  the  genuine  good-humor  of  the  lady. 

"  Here  is  my  brother,"  said  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  showing 
by  the  tremulousness  of  the  Avhisper  that  she  looked  for- 
ward to  the  meeting  with  some  amount  of  apprehension. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Sowerby  ?"  said  Miss  Dunstable, 
walking  almost  into  the  doorway  to  welcome  him.  "  Bet- 
ter late  than  never." 

"  I  have  only  just  got  away  from  the  House,"  said  he, 
as  he  gave  her  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  I  know  well  that  you  are  sans  reproche  among 
senators,  as  Mr. Harold  Smith  is  sans peur ;  eh!  my  dear?" 

"I  must  confess  that  you  have  contrived  to  be  uncom- 
monly severe  upon  them  both,"  said  Mrs.  Harold,  laugh- 
ing, "  and,  as  regards  poor  Harold,  most  undeservedly  so ; 
Nathaniel  is  here,  and  may  defend  himself" 

"And  no  one  is  better  able  to  do  so  on  all  occasions. 
But,  my  dear  Mr.  Sowerby,  I  am  dying  of  despair.  Do 
you  think  he'll  come  ?" 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  331 

"He?  who?" 

"  You  stupid  man — as  if  there  were  more  than  one  he ! 
There  were  two,  but  the  other  has  been." 

"Upon  my  word,  I  don't  understand,"  said  Mr.  Sower- 
by,  now  again  at  his  ease.  "But  can  I  do  any  thing? 
shall  I  go  and  fetch  any  one  ?  Oh,  Tom  Towers !  I  fear 
I  can't  help  you.  But  here  he  is  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs !" 
And  then  Mr.  Sowerby  stood  back  with  his  sister  to  make 
way  for  the  great  representative  man  of  the  age. 

"Angels  and  ministers  of  grace,  assist  me!"  said  Miss 
Dunstable.  "  How  on  earth  am  I  to  behave  myself?  Mr. 
Sowerby,  do  you  think  that  I  ought  to  kneel  down  ?  My 
dear,  will  he  have  a  reporter  at  his  back  in  the  royal  liv- 
ery?'* And  then  Miss  Dunstable  advanced  two  or  three 
steps — not  into  the  doorway,  as  she  had  done  for  Mr.  Sow- 
erby— put  out  her  hand,  and  smiled  her  sweetest  on  Mr. 
Towers  of  the  Jupiter. 

"Mr. Towers,"  she  said,  "I  am  delighted  to  have  this 
opportunity  of  seeing  you  in  my  own  house." 

"  Miss  Dunstable,  I  am  immensely  honored  by  the  privi- 
lege of  being  here,"  said  he. 

"The  honor  done  is  all  conferred  on  me,"  and  she  bowed 
and  courtesied  with  very  stately  grace.  Each  thoroughly 
understood  the  badinage  of  the  other ;  and  then,  in  a  fcAV 
moments,  they  were  engaged  in  very  easy  conversation. 

"  By-the-by,  Sowerby,  what  do  you  think  of  this  threat- 
ened dissolution  ?"  said  Tom  Towers. 

"We  are  all  in  the  hands  of  Providence,"  said  Mr.  Sow- 
erby, striving  to  take  the  matter  Avithout  any  outward  show 
of  emotion.  But  the  question  was  one  of  terrible  import 
to  him,  and  up  to  this  time  he  had  heard  of  no  such  threat ; 
nor  had  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  nor  Miss  Dunstable,  nor  had 
a  hundred  others  who  now  either  listened  to  the  vaticina- 
tions of  Mr.  Towers,  or  to  the  immediate  report  made  of 
them.  But  it  is  given  to  some  men  to  originate  such 
tidings,  and  the  performance  of  the  prophecy  is  often 
brought  about  by  the  authority  of  the  prophet.  On  the 
following  morning  the  rumor  that  there  would  be  a  disso- 
lution was  current  in  all  high  circles.  "  They  have  no  con- 
science in  such  matters — no  conscience  whatever,"  said  a 
small  god,  speaking  of  the  giants — a  small  god,  whose  con- 
stituency was  expensive. 

Mr.  Towers  stood  there  chatting  for  about  twenty  min- 


332  FBAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

utes,  and  then  took  his  departure  without  making  his  way 
into  the  room.  He  had  answered  the  purpose  for  which 
he  had  been  invited,  and  left  Miss  Dunstable  in  a  happy- 
frame  of  mind. 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  he  came,"  said  Mrs.  Harold  Smith, 
with  an  air  of  triumph. 

"  Yes,  I  am  glad,"  said  Miss  Dunstable,  "  though  I  am 
thoroughly  ashamed  that  I  should  be  so.  After  all,  what 
good  has  he  done  to  me  or  to  any  one  ?"  And,  having  ut- 
tered this  moral  reflection,  she  made  her  way  into  the 
rooms,  and  soon  discovered  Dr.  Thorne  standing  by  him- 
self against  the  wall. 

"Well,  doctor,"  she  said,  "where  are  Mary  and  Frank? 
You  do  not  look  at  all  comfortable,  standing  here  by  your- 
self" 

"  I  am  quite  as  comfortable  as  I  expected,  thank  you," 
said  he.  "They  are  in  the  room  somewhere,  and,  as  I  be- 
lieve, equally  happy." 

"  That's  spiteful  in  you,  doctor,  to  speak  in  that  way. 
What  would  you  say  if  you  were  called  on  to  endure  all 
that  I  have  gone  through  this  evening?" 

"  There  is  no  accounting  for  tastes,  but  I  presume  you 
like  it." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  Give  me  your  arm,  and  let 
me  get  some  supper.  One  always  likes  the  idea  of  having 
done  hard  work,  and  one  always  likes  to  have  been  suc- 
cessful." 

"  We  all  know  that  virtue  is  its  own  reward,"  said  the 
doctor. 

"  Well,  that  is  something  hard  upon  me,"  said  Miss  Dun- 
stable, as  she  sat  down  to  table.  "And  you  really  think 
that  no  good  of  any  sort  can  come  from  my  giving  such  a 
party  as  this  ?" 

"  Oh  yes ;  some  people,  no  doubt,  have  been  amused." 

"  It  is  all  vanity  in  your  estimation,"  said  Miss  Dunstable 
— "vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit.  Well,  there  is  a  good 
deal  of  the  latter,  certainly.  Sherry,  if  you  please.  I  would 
give  any  thing  for  a  glass  of  beer,  but  that  is  out  of  the 
question.  Vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit !  And  yet  I  meant 
to  do  good." 

"  Pray,  do  not  suppose  that  I  am  condemning  you.  Miss 
Dunstable." 

"  Ah  !  but  I  do  suppose  it.     Not  only  you,  but  another 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  333 

also,  whose  judgment  I  care  for  perhaps  more  than  yours; 
and  that,  let  me  tell  you,  is  saying  a  great  deal.  You  do 
condemn  me.  Dr.  Thorne,  and  I  also  condemn  myself.  It 
is  not  that  I  have  done  wrong,  hut  the  game  is  not  worth 
the  candle." 

"  Ah !  that's  the  question." 

"  The  game  is  not  worth  the  candle.  And  yet  it  was  a 
triumph  to  have  both  the  duke  and  Tom  Towers.  You 
must  confess  that  I  have  not  managed  badly." 

Soon  after  that  the  Greshams  went  away,  and  in  an  hour's 
time  or  so  Miss  Dunstable  was  allowed  to  drag  herself  to 
her  own  bed. 

That  is  the  great  question  to  be  asked  on  all  sucli  occa- 
sions, "  Is  the  game  worth  the  candle  ?" 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE   GRANTLY  TRIUMPH. 

It  lias  been  mentioned  cursorily — the  reader,  no  doubt, 
will  have  forgotten  it — that  Mrs.  Grantly  was  not  specially 
invited  by  her  husband  to  go  up  to  town  with  the  view  of 
being  present  at  Miss  Dunstable's  party.  Mrs.  Grantly 
said  nothing  on  the  subject,  but  she  was  somewhat  cha- 
grined; not  on  account  of  therloss  she  sustained  with  ref- 
erence to  that  celebrated  assembly,  but  because  she  felt 
that  her  daughter's  affairs  required  the  supervision  of  a 
mother's  eye.  She  also  doubted  the  final  ratification  of  that 
Lufton-Grantly  treaty,  and,  doubting  it,  she  did  not  feel 
quite  satisfied  that  her  daughter  should  be  left  in  Lady 
Lufton's  hands.  She  had  said  a  word  or  two  to  the  arch- 
deacon before  he  went  up,  but  only  a  Avord  or  two,  for  she 
hesitated  to  trust  him  in  so  delicate  a  matter.  She  was, 
therefore,  not  a  little  surprised  at  receiving,  on  the  second 
morning  after  her  husband's  departure,  a  letter  from  him 
desiring  her  immediate  presence  in  London.  She  was  sur- 
prised ;  but  her  heart  was  filled  rather  with  hope  than  dis- 
may, for  she  had  full  confidence  in  her  daughter's  discre- 
tion. 

On  the  morning  after  the  party.  Lady  Lufton  and  Gri- 
selda  had  breakfasted  together  as  usual,  but  each  felt  that 
the  manner  of  the  other  was  altered.  Lady  Lufton  thought 
that  her  young  friend  was  somewhat  less  attentive,  and 


334  FEAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

perhaps  less  meek  in  her  demeanor  than  usual,  and  Griselda 
felt  that  Lady  Lufton  was  less  affectionate.  Very  little, 
however,  was  said  between  them,  and  Lady  Lufton  express- 
ed no  surprise  when  Griselda  begged  to  be  left  alone  at 
home,  instead  of  accompanying  her  ladyship  when  the  car- 
riage came  to  the  door. 

Nobody  called  in  Bruton  Street  that  afternoon — no  one, 
at  least,  was  let  in  —  except  the  archdeacon.  He  came 
there  late  in  the  day,  and  remained  with  his  daughter  till 
Lady  Lufton  returned.  Then  he  took  his  leave,  with  more 
abruptness  than  was  usual  with  him,  and  without  saying 
any  thing  special  to  account  for  the  duration  of  his  visit. 
Neither  did  Griselda  say  any  thing  special;  and  so  the 
evening  wore  away,  each  feeling  in  some  unconscious  man- 
ner that  she  was  on  less  intimate  terms  with  the  other  than 
had  previously  been  the  case. 

On  the  next  day  also  Griselda  would  not  go  out,  but  at 
four  o'clock  a  servant  brought  a  letter  to  her  from  Mount 
Street.  Her  mother  had  arrived  in  London  and  wished  to 
see  her  at  once.  Mrs.  Grantly  sent  her  love  to  Lady  Luf- 
ton, and  would  call  at  half  past  five,  or  at  any  later  hour 
at  which  it  might  be  convenient  for  Lady  Lufton  to  see 
her.  Griselda  was  to  stay  and  dine  in  Mount  Street ;  so 
said  the  letter.  Lady  Lufton  declared  that  she  would  be 
very  happy  to  see  Mrs.  Grantly  at  the  hour  named ;  and 
then,  armed  with  this  message,  Griselda  started  for  her 
mother's  lodgings. 

"  I'll  send  the  carriage  for  you,"  said  Lady  Lufton.  "  I 
suppose  about  ten  will  do." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Griselda,  "that  will  do  very  nicely ;" 
and  then  she  went. 

Exactly  at  half  past  five  Mrs.  Grantly  was  shown  into 
Lady  Lufton's  drawing-room.  Her  daughter  did  not  come 
with  her,  and  Lady  Lufton  could  see  by  the  expression  of 
her  friend's  face  that  business  was  to  be  discussed.  Li- 
deed,  it  was  necessary  that  she  herself  should  discuss  busi- 
ness, for  Mrs.  Grantly  must  now  be  told  that  the  family 
treaty  could  not  be  ratified.  The  gentleman  declined  the 
alliance,  and  poor  Lady  Lufton  was  uneasy  in  her  mind  at 
the  nature  of  the  task  before  her. 

"Your  coming  up  has  been  rather  unexpected,"  said 
Lady  Lufton,  as  soon  as  her  friend  was  seated  on  the  sofa. 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  I  got  a  letter  from  the  archdeacon  only 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  •  335 

this  morning,  which  made  it  absolutely  necessary  that  I 
should,  come." 

"  No  bad  news,  I  hope,"  said  Lady  Lufton. 

"  No,  I  can't  call  it  bad  news.  But,  dear  Lady  Lufton, 
things  won't  always  turn  out  exactly  as  one  would  iave 
them." 

"No,  indeed,"  said  her  ladyship,  remembering  that  it 
was  incumbent  on  her  to  explain  to  Mrs.  Grantly  now  at 
this  present  interview  the  tidings  with  which  her  mind  was 
fraught.  She  would,  however,  let  Mrs.  Grantly  first  tell 
her  own  story,  feeling,  perhaps,  that  the  one  might  possi- 
bly bear  upon  the  other. 

"  Poor  dear  Griselda !"  said  Mrs.  Grantly,  almost  with 
a  sigh.  "  I  need  not  tell  you.  Lady  Lufton,  what  my  hopes 
were  regarding  her." 

"  Has  she  told  you  any  thing — any  thing  that — " 

"She  would  have  spoken  to  you  at  once — and  it  was 
due  to  you  that  she  should  have  done  so — but  she  was 
timid,  and  not  unnaturally  so.  And  then  it  was  right  that 
she  should  see  her  father  and  me  before  she  quite  made  up 
her  own  mind.     But  I  may  say  that  it  is  settled  now." 

"  What  is  settled  ?"  asked  Lady  Lufton. 

"  Of  course,  it  is  impossible  for  any  one  to  tell  before- 
hand how  these  things  will  turn  out,"  continued  Mrs. 
Grantly,  beating  about  the  bush  rather  more  than  was  nec- 
essary. "The  dearest  wish  of  my  heart  was  to  sec  her 
married  to  Lord  Lufton.  I  should  so  much  have  wished 
to  have  her  in  the  same  county  with  me,  and  such  a  match 
as  that  would  have  fully  satisfied  my  ambition." 

"  Well,  I  should  rather  think  it  might !"  Lady  Lufton 
did  not  say  this  out  loud,  but  she  thought  it.  Mrs.  Grant- 
ly was  absolutely  speaking  of  a  match  between  her  daugh- 
ter and  Lord  Lufton  as  though  she  would  have  displayed 
some  amount  of  Christian  moderation  in  putting  up  with 
it !  Griselda  Grantly  might  be  a  very  nice  girl ;  but  even 
she — so  thought  Lady  Lufton  at  the  moment — might  pos- 
sibly be  priced  too  highly.   . 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Grantly,"  she  said,  "  I  have  foreseen  for  the 
last  few  days  that  our  mutual  hopes  in  this  respect  would 
not  be  gratified.  Lord  Lufton,  I  think — but  perhaps  it  is 
not  necessary  to  explain.  Had  you  not  come  up  to  town 
I  should  have  written  to  you — probably  to-day.  Whatev- 
er may  be  dear  Griselda's  fate  in  life,  I  sincerely  hope  that 
she  may  be  happy." 


836  .  FRAMLEY   PAKSONAGE. 

"  I  think  she  will,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly,  in  a  tone  that  ex- 
pressed much  satisfaction. 

"  Has — has  any  thing — " 

"  Lord  Dumbello  proposed  to  Griselda  the  other  night, 
at  Miss  Dunstable's  party,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  floor,  and  assuming  on  the  sudden 
much  meekness  in  her  manner;  "and  his  lordship  was 
with  the  archdeacon  yesterday,  and  again  this  morning.  I 
fancy  he  is  in  Mount  Street  at  the  present  moment." 

"  Oh,  indeed !"  said  Lady  Lufton.  She  would  have 
given  worlds  to  have  possessed  at  the  moment  sufficient 
self-command  to  have  enabled  her  to  express  in  her  tone 
and  manner  unqualified  satisfaction  at  the  tidings.  But 
she  had  not  such  self-command,  and  was  painfully  aware 
of  her  own  deficiency. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly.  "  And  as  it  is  all  so  far  set- 
tled, and  as  I  know  you  are  so  kindly  anxious  about  dear 
Griselda,  I  thought  it  right  to  let  you  know  at  once.  Noth- 
ing can  be  more  upright,  honorable,  and  generous  than 
Lord  Dumbello's  conduct ;  and,  on  tlie  Avhole,  the  match 
is  one  with  which  I  and  the  archdeacon  can  not  but  be 
contented." 

"  It  is  certainly  a  great  match,"  said  Lady  Lufton. 
"  Have  you  seen  Lady  Hartletop  yet  ?" 

ISTow  Lady  Hartletop  could  not  be  regarded  as  an  agree- 
able connection,  but  this  was  the  only  word  which  escaped 
from  Lady  Lufton  that  could  be  considered  in  any  way 
disparaging,  and,  on  the  whole,  I  think  that  she  behaved 
well. 

"  Lord  Dumbello  is  so  completely  his  own  master  that 
that  has  not  been  necessary,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly.  "The 
marquis  has  been  told,  and  the  archdeacon  will  see  him 
either  to-morrow  or  the  day  after." 

There  was  nothing  left  for  Lady  Lufton  but  to  congrat- 
ulate her  friend,  and  this  she  did  in  words  perhaps  not 
very  sincere,  but  which,  on  the  whole,  were  not  badly 
chosen. 

"  I  am  sure  I  hope  she  will  be  very  happy,"  said  Lady 
Lufton,  "and  I  trust  that  the  alliance" — the  word  was 
very  agreeable  to  Mrs.  Grantly's  ear — "will  give  unalloyed 
gratification  to  you  and  to  her  father.  The  position  which 
she  is  called  to  fill  is  a  very  splendid  one,  but  I  do  not 
think  that  it  is  above  her  merits." 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  337 

This  was  very  generous,  and  so  Mrs.  Grantly  felt  it. 
She  had  expected  that  her  news  would  be  received  with 
the  coldest  shade  of  civility,  and  she  was  quite  prepared  to 
.do  battle  if  there  were  occasion.  But  she  had  no  Avish  for 
war,  and  was  almost  grateful  to  Lady  Lufton  for  her  cor- 
diality. 

"Dear  Lady  Lufton,"  she  said,  "it  is  so  kind  of  you  to 
say  so.  I  have  told  no  one  else,  and  of  course  would  tell 
no  one  till  you  knew  it.  No  one  has  known  her  and  un- 
derstood her  so  well  as  you  have  done.  And  I  can  assure 
you  of  this — that  there  is  no  one  to  whose  friendship  she 
looks  forward  in  her  new  sphere  of  life  with  half  so  much 
pleasure  as  she  /iocs  to  yours." 

Lady  Lufton  did  not  say  much  farther.  She  could  not 
declare  that  she  expected  much  gratification  from  an  inti- 
macy with  the  future  Marchioness  of  Hartletop.  The  Har- 
tletops  and  Luftons  must,  at  any  rate  for  her  generation, 
live  in  a  world  apart,  and  she  had  now  said  all  that  her 
old  friendship  with  Mrs.  Grantly  required.  Mrs.  Grantly 
understood  all  this  quite  as  well  as  did  Lady  Lufton;  but 
then  Mrs.  Grantly  was  much  the  better  woman  of  the  world. 

It  was  arranged  that  Griselda  should  come  back  to  Bru- 
ton  Street  for  that  night,  and  that  her  visit  should  then  be 
brought  to  a  close. 

"  The  archdeacon  thinks  that  for  the  present  I  had  bet- 
ter remain  up  in  town,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly ;  "  and,  imder 
the  very  peculiar  circumstances,  Griselda  will  be — perhaps 
more  comfortable  with  me."  * 

To  this  Lady  Lufton  entirely  agreed ;  and  so  they  part- 
ed, excellent  friends,  embracing  each  other  in  a  most  affec- 
tionate manner. 

That  evening  Griselda  did  return  to  Bruton  Street,  and 
Lady  Lufton  had  to  go  through  the  farther  task  of  con- 
gratulating her.  This  was  the  more  disagreeable  of  the 
two,  especially  so  as  it  had  to  be  thought  over  beforehand. 
But  the  young  lady's  excellent  good  sense  and  sterling 
qualities  made  the  task  comparatively  an  easy  one.  She 
neither  cried,  nor  was  impassioned,  nor  went  into  hyster- 
ics, nor  showed  any  emotion.  She  did  not  even  talk  of  her 
noble  Dumbello — her  generous  Dumbello.  She  took  Lady 
Lufton's  kisses  almost  in  silence,  thanked  her  gently  for 
her  kindness,  and  made  no  allusion  to  her  own  future  gran- 
deur. 

P 


338  FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

"  I  think  I  should  like  to  go  to  bed  early,"  she  said,  "  as 
I  must  see  to  my  packing  up." 

"  Richards  will  do  all  that  for  you,  my  dear." 

"  Oh  yes,  thank  you,  nothing  can  be  kinder  than  Rich- 
ards.    But  I'll  just  see  to  my  own  dresses." 

And  so  she  went  to  bed  early. 

Lady  Lufton  did  not  see  her  son  for  the  next  two  days, 
but  when  she  did,  of  course  she  said  a  Avord  or  two  about 
Griselda. 

"  You  have  heard  the  news,  Ludovic  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh  yes ;  it's  at  all  the  clubs.  I  have  been  overwhelm- 
ed with  presents  of  willow  branches." 

"  You,  at  any  rate,  have  got  nothing  to  i-egret,"  she  said. 

"Nor  you  either,  mother.  I  am  sure  that  you  do  not 
think  you  have".  Say  that  you  do  not  regret  it.  Dearest 
mother,  say  so  for  my  sake.  Do  you  not  know  in  your 
heart  of  hearts  that  she  was  not  suited  to  be  happy  as  my 
wife,  or  to  make  me  happy  ?" 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Lady  Lufton,  sighing.  And  then 
she  kissed  her  son,  and  declared  to  herself  that  no  girl  in 
England  could  be  good  enough  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

SALMON   FISHING   IN   NOEWAY. 

Lord  Dumbello's  engagement  with.  Griselda  Grantly 
was  the  talk  of  the  town  for  the  next  ten  days.  It  form- 
ed, at  least,  one  of  two  subjects  which  monopolized  atten- 
tion, the  other  being  that  dreadful  rumor,  first  put  in  mo- 
tion by  Tom  Towers  at  Miss  Dunstable's  party,  as  to  a 
threatened  dissolution  of  Parliament. 

"  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  will  be  the  best  thing  for  us,"  said 
Mr.  Green  Walker,  who  felt  himself  to  be  tolerably  safe  at 
Crewe  Junction. 

"  I  regard  it  as  a  most  wicked  attempt,"  said  Harold 
Smith,  who  was  not  equally  secure  in  his  own  borough,  and 
to  whom  the  expense  of  an  election  was  disagreeable.  "  It 
is  done  in  order  that  they  may  get  time  to  tide  over  the 
autumn.  They  won't  gain  ten  votes  by  a  dissolution,  and 
less  than  forty  would  hardly  give  them  a  majority.  But 
they  have  no  sense  of  public  duty — none  whatever.  In- 
deed, I  don't  know  who  has." 


FIIAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  339 

"  No,  by  Jove,  that's  just  it.  That's  wliat  my  aunt.  Lady 
Ilartletop,  says ;  there  is  no  sense  of  duty  left  in  tlie  world. 
By-the-by,  "Nvhat  an  uncommon  fool  Dumbello  is  making 
himself!"  And  then  the  conversation  went  off  to  that 
other  topic. 

Lord  Lufton's  joke  against  himself  about  tlie  w^illow 
branches  was  all  very  well,  and  nobody  dreamed  that  his 
heart  was  sore  in  that  matter.  The  world  -sn  as  laughing 
at  Lord  Dumbello  for  w^hat  it  chose  to  call  a  foolish  match, 
and  Lord  Lufton's  friends  talked  to  him  about  it  as  though 
they  had  never  suspected  that  he  could  have  made  an  ass 
of  himself  in  the  same  direction ;  but,  nevertheless,  he  was 
not  altogether  contented.  He  by  no  means  wished  to 
marry  Griselda ;  he  had  declared  to  himself  a  dozen  times 
since  he  had  first  suspected  his  mother's  manccuvres  that 
no  consideration  on  earth  should  induce  him  to  do  so ;  he 
had  pronounced  her  to  be  cold,  insipid,  and  unattractive  in 
spite  of  her  beauty;  and  yet  he  felt  almost  angry  that 
Lord  Dumbello  should  have  been  successful.  And  this, 
too,  was  the  more  inexcusable,  seeing  that  he  had  never 
forgotten  Lucy  Robarts,  had  never  ceased  to  love  her,  and 
that,  in  holding  those  various  conversations  within  his  own 
bosom,  he  w^as  as  loud  in  Lucy's  favor  as  he  was  in  dis- 
l)raise  of  Griselda. 

"Your  hero,  then,"  I  hear  some  well-balanced  critic  say, 
"  is  not  worth  very  much." 

In  the  first  place.  Lord  Lufton  is  not  my  hero ;  and,  in 
the  next  place,  a  man  may  be  very  imperfect  and  yet  worth 
a  great  deal.  A  man  may  be  as  imperfect  as  Lord  Lufton, 
and  yet  worthy  of  a  good  mother  and  a  good  wife. .  If 
not,  how  many  of  us  are  unw^orthy  of  the  mothers  and 
wives  we  have !  It  is  my  belief  that  few  young  men  settle 
themselves  down  to  the  w^ork  of  the  world — to  the  beget- 
ting of  children,  and  carving,  and  paying,  and  struggling, 
and  fretting  for  the  same,  without  having  first  b^en  in  love 
with  four  or  five  possible  mothers  for  them,  and  probably 
■with  two  or  three  at  the  same  time.  And  yet  these  men 
are,  as  a  rule,  worthy  of  the  excellent  wives  that  ultimately 
fall  to  their  lot.  In  this  way  Lord  Lufton  had,  to  a  certain 
extent,  been  in  love  with  Griselda.  There  had  been  one 
moment  in  his  life  in  which  he  would  have  offered  her  his 
hand,  had  not  her  discretion  been  so  excellent ;  and,  though 
that  moment  never  returned,  still  he  suffered  from  some 


340  FEAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

feeling  akin  to  disappointment  when  he  learned  that  Gri- 
selda  had  been  won  and  was  to  be  worn.  He  was,  then,  a 
dog  in  the  manger,  you  will  say.  Well,  and  are  we  not  all 
dogs  in  the  manger  more  or  less  actively  ?  Is  not  that 
manger-doggishness  one  of  the  most  common  phases  of  the 
human  heart? 

But  not  the  less  was  Lord  Lufton  truly  in  love  with  Lucy 
Robarts.  Had  he  fancied  that  any  Dumbello  was  carry- 
ing on  a  siege  before  that  fortress,  his  vexation  would  have 
manifested  itself  in  a  very  different  manner.  He  could 
joke  about  Griselda  Grautly  with  a  frank  face  and  a  happy 
tone  of  voice ;  but  had  he  heard  of  any  tidings  of  a  similar 
import  with  reference  to  Lucy,  he  would  have  been  past 
all  joking,  and  I  much  doubt  whether  it  would  not  even 
have  affected  his  appetite. 

"  Mother,"  he  said  to  Lady  Lufton  a  day  or  two  after 
the  declaration  of  Griselda's  engagement,  "  I  am  going  to 
Norway  to  fish." 

"To  Norway— to  fish!" 

"Yes.  We've  got  rather  a  nice  party.  Clontarf  is  go- 
ing, and  Culpepper — " 

"  What,  that  horrid  man !"  * 

"He's  an  excellent  hand  at  fishing;  and  Haddington 
Peebles,  and — and — there'll  be  six  of  us  altogether;  and 
we  start  this  day  week." 

"  That's  rather  sudden,  Ludovic." 

"  Yes,  it  is  sudden  ;  but  we're  sick  of  London.  I  should 
not  care  to  go  so  soon  myself,  but  Clontarf  and  Culpepper 
say  that  the  season  is  early  this  year.  I  must  go  dow^n  to 
Framley  before  I  start — about  my  horses,  and  therefore  I 
came  to  tell  you  that  I  shall  be  there  to-morrow." 

"At  Framley  to-morrow!  If  you  could  put  it  off  for 
three  days  I  should  be  going  myself" 

But  Lord  Lufton  could  not  put  it  off  for  three  days.  It 
may  be  that  on  this  occasion  he  did  not  wish  for  his  moth- 
er's presence  at  Framley  while  he  was  there ;  that  he  con- 
ceived that  he  should  be  more  at  his  ease  in  giving  orders 
about  his  stable  if  he  w^ere  alone  w^hile  so  employed.  At 
any  rate,  he  declined  her  company,  and  on  the  following 
morning  did  go  down  to  Framley  by  himself 

"  Mark,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts,  hurrying  into  her  husband's 
bookroom  about  the  middle  of  the  day,  "  Lord  Lufton  is  at 
home.     Have  you  heard  it  ?" 


FEAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  341 

"What!  here  at  Framley ?" 

"He  is  over  at  Framley  Court — so  the  servants  say. 
Carson  saw  him  in  the  paddock  witli  some  of  the  Ijorses. 
Won't  you  go  and  see  him  ?" 

"Of  course  I  will,"  said  Mark,  shutting  up  his  papers. 
"Lady  Lufton  can't  be  here,  and  if  he  is  alone  he  will 
probably  come  and  dine." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts,  thinking 
of  poor  Lucy. 

"lie  is  not  in  the  least  particular.  What  does  for  us 
will  do  for  him.  I  shall  ask  him,  at  any  rate."  And, 
without  farther  parley,  the  clergyman  took  up  his  hat  and 
Avent  off  in  search  of  his  friend. 

Lucy  Robarts  had  been  present  when  the  gardener 
brought  in  tidings  of  Lord  Lufton's  arrival  at  Framley, 
and  was  aware  that  Fanny  had  gone  to  tell  her  husband. 

"  He  won't  come  here,  will  he  ?"  she  said,  as  soon  as  Mrs. 
Robarts  returned. 

"  I  can't  say,"  said  Fanny.  "  I  hope  not.  He  ought  not 
to  do  so,  and  I  don't  think  he  will.  But  Mark  says  that  he 
will  ask  him  to  dinner." 

"  Then,  Fanny,  I  must  be  taken  ill.  There  is  nothing 
else  for  it." 

"  I  don't  think  he  will  come.  I  don't  think  he  can  be  so 
cruel.  Indeed,  I  feel  sure  that  he  won't ;  but  I  thought  it 
right  to  tell  you." 

Lucy  also  conceived  that  it  was  improbable  that  Lord 
Lufton  should  come  to  the  Parsonage  under  the  present 
circumstances ;  and  she  declared  to  herself  that  it  would 
not  be  possible  that  she  should  appear  at  table  if  he  did  do 
so ;  but,  nevertheless,  the  idea  of  his  being  at  Framley  was, 
perhaps,  not  altogether  painful  to  her.  She  did  not  recog- 
nize any  pleasure  as  coming  to  her  from  his  arrival,  but  still 
there  was  something  in  his  presence  which  was,  uncon- 
sciously to  herself,  soothing  to  her  feelings.  But  that  ter- 
rible question  remained — how  was  she  to  act  if  it  should 
turn  out  that  he  was  coming  to  dinner? 

"  If  he  does  come,  Fanny,"  she  said,  solemnly,  after  a 
pause,  "  I  must  keep  to  my  own  room,  and  leave  Mark  to 
think  what  he  pleases.  It  will  be  better  for  me  to  make  a 
fool  of  myself  there  than  in  his  presence  in  the  drawing- 
room." 

Mark  Robarts  took  his  hat  and  stick,  and  went  over  at 


342  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

once  to  the  home  paddock,  in  which  he  knew  that  Lord 
Lufton  was  engaged  with  the  horse  and  groom.  He  also 
Avas  in  no  supremely  happy  frame  of  mind,  for  his  cor- 
respondence with  Mr.  Tozer  was  on  the  increase.  He  had 
received  notice  from  that  indefatigable  gentleman  that  cer- 
tain "  overdue  bills"  were  now  lying  at  the  bank  in  Bar- 
chester,  and  were  very  desirous  of  his,  Mr.  Robarts's,  notice. 
A  concatenation  of  certain  peculiarly  unfortunate  circum- 
stances made  it  indispensably  necessary  that  Mr.  Tozer 
should  be  repaid,  without  farther  loss  of  time,  the  various 
sums  of  money  which  he  had  advanced  on  the  credit  of 
Mr.  Robarts's  name,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  No  absolute  threat  was 
put  forth,  and,  singular  to  say,  no  actual  amount  was  named. 
Mr.  Robarts,  however,  could  not  but  observe,  with  a  most 
painfully  accurate  attention,  that  mention  was  made,  not 
of  an  overdue  bill,  but  of  overdue  bills.  What  if  Mr.  Tozer 
were  to  demand  from  him  the  instant  repayment  of  nine 
hundred  pounds  ?  Hitherto  he  had  merely  written  to  Mr. 
Sowerby,  and  he  might  have  had  an  answer  from  that  gen- 
tleman this  morning,  but  no  such  answer  had  as  yet  reached 
him.  Consequently  he  was  not,  at  the  present  moment,  in 
a  very  hajDpy  frame  of  mind. 

He  soon  found  himself  with  Lord  Lufton  and  the  horses. 
Four  or  five  of  them  were  being  walked  slowly  about  the 
paddock,  in  the  care  of  as  many  men  or  boys,  and  the 
sheets  were  being  taken  off  them — off  one  after  another, 
so  that  their  master  might  look  at  them  with  the  more  ac- 
curacy and  satisfaction.  But,  though  Lord  Lufton  w^as 
thus  doing  his  duty,  and  going  through  his  work,  he  was 
not  doing  it  with  his  whole  heart,  as  the  head  groom  per- 
cieived  very  well.  He  was  fretful  about  the  nags,  and 
seemed  anxious  to  get  them  out  of  his  sight  as  soon  as  he 
had  made  a  decent  pretext  of  looking  at  them. 

"  How  are  you,  Lufton  ?"  said  Robarts,  coming  forward. 
"  They  told  me  that  you  were  down,  and  so  I  came  across 
at  once." 

"  Yes ;  I  only  got  here  this  morning,  and  should  have 
been  over  with  you  directly.  I  am  going  to  Norway  for 
six  weeks  or  so,  and  it  seems  that  the  fish  are  so  early  this 
year  that  we  must  start  at  once.  I  have  a  matter  on  which 
I  want  to  speak  to  you  before  I  leave,  and,  indeed,  it  was 
that  which  brought  me  down  more  than  any  thing  else." 

There  was  something  hurried  and  not  altogether  easy 


FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE.  343 

about  his  manner  as  he  spoke,  -which  struck  Robarts,  and 
made  him  think  that  this  promised  matter  to  be  spoken  of 
would -not  be  agreeable  in  discussion.  lie  did  not  know 
whether  Lord  Lufton  might  not  again  be  mixed  up  with 
Tozer  and  the  bills. 

"  You  will  dine  with  us  to-day,"  he  said,  "  if,  as  I  sup- 
pose, you  are  all  alone." 

"  Yes,  I  am  all  alone." 

"Then  you'll  come?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  quite  know.  No,  I  don't  think  I  can  go 
over  to  dinner.  Don't  look  so  disgusted.  I'll  explain  it 
all  to  you  just  now." 

What  could  there  be  in  the  wind ;  and  how  was  it  pos- 
sible that  Tozer's  bill  should  make  it  inexpedient  for  Lord 
Lufton  to  dine  at  the  parsonage  ?  liobarts,-  however,  said 
nothing  farther  about  it  at  the  moment,  but  turned  oiF  to 
look  at  the  horses. 

"  They  are  an  uncommonly  nice  set  of  animals,"  said  he. 

**  Well,  yes ;  I  don't  know.  When  a  man  has  four  or 
five  horses  to  look  at,  somehow  or  other  he  never  has  one 
fit  to  go.  The  chestnut  mare  is  a  picture  now  that  nobody 
wants  her,  but  she  wasn't  able  to  carry  me  Avell  to  hounds 
a  single  day  last  winter.    Take  them  in.  Pounce ;  that'll  do." 

"Won't  your  lordship  run  your  eye  over  the  old  black 
'oss  ?"  said  Pounce,  the  head  groom,  in  a  melancholy  tone ; 
"  he's  as  fine,  sir — as  fine  as  a  stag." 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  think  they're  too  fine;  but 
that'll  do ;  take  them  in.  And  now,  Mark,  if  you're  at 
leisure,  we'll  take  a  turn  round  the  place." 

Mark,  of  course,  was  at  leisure,  and  so  they  started  on 
their  walk. 

"  You're  too  difiicult  to  please  about  your  stable,"  Ro- 
barts began. 

"  Never  mind  the  stable  now,"  said  Lord  Lufton.  "  The 
truth  is,  I  am  not  thinking  about  it.  Mark,"  he  then  said, 
very  abruptly,  "I  want  you  to  be  frank  with  me.  Has 
your  sister  ever  spoken  to  you  about  me  ?" 

"  My  sister— Lucy  ?" 

"  Yes,  your  sister  Lucy." 

"  No,  never — at  least  nothing  especial — nothing  that  I 
can  remember  at  this  moment." 

"  Nor  your  wife  ?" 

"Spoken  about  you!  Fanny?     Of  course  she  has,  in  an 


344  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

ordinary  way.  It  would  be  impossible  that  she  should 
not.     But  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Have  either  of  them  told  you  that  I  made  an  offer  to 
your  sister?" 

"  That  you  made  an  offer  to  Lucy  ?" 

"  Yes,  that  I  made  an  offer  to  Lucy." 

"No;  nobody  has  told  me  so.  I  have  never  dreamed 
of  such  a  thing ;  nor,  as  far  as  I  believe,  have  they.  If 
any  body  has  spread  such  report,  or  said  that  either  of 
them  have  hinted  at  such  a  thing,  it  is  a  base  lie.  Good 
heavens !  Lufton,  for  what  do  you  take  them  ?" 

"  But  I  did,"  said  his  lordship. 

"Did  what?"  said  the  parson. 

"  I  did  make  your  sister  an  offer." 

"  You  made  Lucy  an  offer  of  marriage  ?" 

"Yes,  I  did — in  as  plain  language  as  a  gentleman  could 
use  to  a  lady." 

"And  what  answer  did  she  make?" 

"  She  refused  me.  And  now,  Mark,  I  have  come  down 
here  with  the  express  purpose  of  making  tliat  offer  again. 
^N^othing  could  be  more  decided  than  your  sister's  ansAver. 
It  struck  me  as  being  almost  uncourteously  decided.  But 
still  it  is  possible  that  circumstances  may  have  Aveighed 
with  her  which  ought  not  to  weigh  with  her.  If  her  love 
be  not  given  to  any  one  else,  I  may  still  have  a  chance  of 
it.  It's  the  old  story  of  faint  heart,  you  know;  at  any 
rate,  I  mean  to  try  my  luck  again ;  and,  thinking  over  it 
with  deliberate  purpose,  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
I  ought  to  tell  you  before  I  see  her." 

Lord  Lufton  in  love  with  Lucy!  As  these  Avords  re- 
peated themselves  over  and  over  again  Avithin  Mark  Ro- 
barts's  mind,  his  mind  added  to  them  notes  of  surprise 
Avithout  end.  How  had  it  possibly  come  about — and  Avhy  ? 
In  his  estimation  his  sister  Lucy  Avas  a  very  simple  girl — 
not  plain  indeed,  but  by  no  means  beautiful ;  certainly  not 
stupid,  but  by  no  means  brilliant.  And  then,  he  Avould 
have  said,  that  of  all  men  Avhom  he  knew.  Lord  Lufton 
Avould  have  been  the  last  to  fall  in  love  Avith  such  a  girl  as  his 
sister.  And  now,  Avhat  Avas  he  to  say  or  do  ?  What  vieAVS 
Avas  he  bound  to  hold  ?  In  Avhat  direction  should  he  act  ? 
There  Avas  Lady  Lufton  on  the  one  side,  to  Avhoni  he  OAved 
every  thing.  Hoav  Avould  life  be  possible  to  liim  in  that 
parsonage — Avithin  a  fcAV  yards  of  her  elboAV — if  he  con- 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  345 

sented  to  receive  Lord  Liifton  as  the  acknowledged  suitor 
of  bis  sister?  It  would  be  a  great  match  for  Lucy,  doubt- 
less; but —  Indeed,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  believe 
that  Lucy  could  in  truth  become  the  absolute  reigning 
queen  of  Framley  Court. 

"  Do  you  thmk  that  Fanny  knows  any  thing  of  all  this?" 
he  said,  after  a  moment  or  two. 

"  I  can  not  possibly  tell.  If  she  does,  it  is  not  with  my 
knowledge.  I  should  have  thought  that  you  could  best 
answer  that." 

"  I  can  not  answer  it  at  all,"  said  Mark.  "  I,  at  least, 
liave  had  not  the  remotest  idea  of  such  a  thing." 

"  Your  ideas  of  it  now  need  not  be  at  all  remote,"  said 
Lord  Lufton,  with  a  faint  smile ;  "  and  you  may  know  it 
as  a  fact.  I  did  make  her  an  oifer  of  marriage ;  I  was  re- 
fused ;  I  am  going  to  repeat  it ;  and  I  am  now  taking  you 
into  my  confidence,  in  order  that,  as  ,her  brother  and  as 
my  friend,  you  may  give  me  such  assistance  as  you  can." 
They  then  walked  on  in  silence  for  some  yards,  after  which 
Lord  Lufton  added,  "  And  now  I'll  dine  with  you  to-day 
if  you  wish  it." 

Mr.  Robarts  did  not  know  what  to  say ;  he  could  not 
bethink  himself  what  answer  duty  required  of  him.  He 
had  no  right  to  interfere  between,  his  sister  and  such  a 
marriage,  if  she  herself  should  wish  it ;  but  still  there  was 
something  terrible  in  the  thought  of  it.  He  had  a  vague 
conception  that  it  must  come  to  evil ;  that  the  project  was 
a  dangerous  one ;  and  that  it  could  not  finally  result  hai> 
pily  for  any  of  them.  What  would  Lady  Lufton  say? 
That,  undoubtedly,  w^as  the  chief  source  of  his  dismay. 

"Have  you  spoken  to  your  mother  about  this?"  he 
said. 

"  My  mother  ?  no ;  why  speak  to  her  till  I  know  my 
fate  ?  A  man  does  not  like  to  speak  much  of  such  matters 
if  there  be  a  probability  of  his  being  rejected.  I  tell  you 
because  I  do  not  like  to  make  my  way  into  your  house 
under  a  false  pretense." 

"But  what  would  Lady  Lufton  say?" 

"  I  think  it  probable  that  she  would  be  displeased  on 
the  first  hearing  it ;  that  in  four-and-twenty  hours  she 
would  be  reconciled ;  and  that  after  a  week  or  so  Lucy 
would  be  her  dearest  favorite  and  the  prime  minister  of 
all  her  machinations.     You  don't  know  mv  mother  as  well 

P2 


34G  PRAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

as  I  do.     She  would  give  her  head  off  her  shoulders  to  do 
me  a  pleasure." 

"And  for  that  reason," said  Mark  Robarts,  "you  ought, 
if  possible,  to  do  her  pleasure." 

"  I  can  not  absolutely  marry  a  wife  of  her  choosing,  if 
you  mean  that,"  said  Lord  Lufton. 

They  went  on  walking  about  the  garden  for  an  hour, 
but  they  hardly  got  any  farther  than  the  point  to  which 
we  have  now  brought  them.  Mark  Robarts  could  not 
make  up  his  mind  on  the  spur  of  the  moment;  nor,  as  he 
said  more  than  once  to  Lord  Lufton,  could  he  be  at  all 
sure  that  Lucy  would  in  any  way  be  guided  by  hira.  It 
was,  therefore,  at  last  settled  between  them  that  Lord  Luf- 
ton should  come  to  the  Parsonage  immediately  after  break- 
fast on  the  following  morning.  It  was  agreed  also  that  the 
dinner  had  better  not  come  off,  and  Robarts  promised  that 
he  would,  if  possible,  have  determined  by  the  morning  as 
to  what  advice  he  would  give  his  sister. 

He  went  direct  home  to  the  Parsonage  from  Framley 
Court,  feeling  that  he  was  altogether  in  the  dark  till  he 
should  have  consulted  his  wife.  How  would  he  feel  if 
Lucy  were  to  become  Lady  Lufton  ?  and  how  would  he 
look  Lady  Lufton  in  the  face  in  telling  her  that  such  was  to 
be  his  sister's  destiny  ?  On  returning  home  he  immediately 
found  his  wife,  and  had  not  been  closeted  with  her  five 
minutes  before  he  knew,  at  any  rate,  all  that  she  knew. 

"And  you  mean  to  say  that  she  does  love  him?"  said 
Mark. 

"  Indeed  she  does  ;  and  is  it  not  natural  that  she  should  ? 
When  I  saw  them  so  much  together  I  feared  that  she 
would,  but  I  never  thought  that  he  would  care  for  her." 

Even  Fanny  did  not  as  yet  give  Lucy  credit  for  half  her 
attractiveness.  After  an  hour's  talking  the  interview  be- 
tween 'the  husband  and  wife  ended  in  a  message  to  Lucy, 
begging  her  to  join  them  both  in  the  book-room. 

"Aunt  Lucy,"  said  a  chubby  little  darling,  who  was 
taken  up  into  his  aunt's  arms  as  he  spoke,  "  papa  and  mam- 
ma 'ant  'oo  in  te  tuddy,  and  I  mus'n't  go  wis  'oo." 

Lucy,  as  she  kissed  the  boy  and  pressed  his  face  against 
her  own,  felt  that  her  blood  was  running  quick  to  her  heart. 

"Mus'n't  'oo  go  wis  me,  my  own  one?"  she  said,  as  she 
put  her  playfellow  down;  but  she  played  with  the  child 
onlv  because  she  did  not  wish  to  betray  even  to  him  that 


FKAMLEY^  PABSONAGE.  ~  347 

she  waB  hardly  mistress  of  herself.  She  knew  that  Lord 
Lufton  Avas  at  Framley ;  she  knew  that  her  brother  had 
been  to  him;  she  knew  that  a  proposal  had  been  made 
that  he  should  come  there  that  day  to  dinner.  Must  it 
not  therefore  be  the  case  that  this  call  to  a  meeting  in  the 
study  had  arisen  out  of  Lord  Lufton's  arrival  at  Framley  ? 
and  yet,  how  could  it  have  done  so  ?  Had  Fanny  betrayed 
her  in  order  to  prevent  the  dinner  invitation?  It  could 
not  be  possible  that  Lord  Lufton  himself  should  have  spo- 
ken on  the  subject.  And  then  she  again  stooped  to  kiss 
the  child,  rubbed  her  hands  across  her  forehead  to  smooth 
her  hair,  and  erase,  if  that  might  be  possible,  the  look  of 
care  which  she  wore,  and  then  descended  slowly  to  her 
brother's  sitting-room. 

Her  hand  paused  for  a  second  on  the  door  ere  she  open- 
ed it ;  but  she  had  resolved  that,  come  what  might,  she 
would  be  brave.  She  pushed  it  open  and  walked  in  with 
a  bold  front,  with  eyes  wide  open,  and  a  slow  step. 

"  Frank  says  that  you  want  me,"  she  said. 

Mr.  Robarts  and  Fanny  Avere  both  standing  up  by  the 
fireplace,  and  each  waited  a  second  for  the  other  to  speak 
when  Lucy  entered  the  room ;  and  then  Fanny  began — 

"  Lord  Lufton  is  here,  Lucy." 

"  Here !     Where  ?     At  the  Parsonage  ?" 

"  No,  not  at  the  Parsonage,  but  over  at  Framley  Court," 
said  Mark. 

"And  he  promises  to  call  here  after  breakfast  to-mor- 
row," said  Fanny.  And  then  again  there  was  a  pause. 
Mrs.  Robarts  hardly  dared  to  look  Lucy  in  the  face.  She 
liad  not  betrayed  her  trust,  seeing  that  the  secret  had  been 
told  to  Mark,  not  by  her,  but  by  Lord  Lufton ;  but  she 
could  not  but  feel  that  Lucy  would  think  that  she  had  be- 
tX'ayed  it. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Lucy,  trying  to  smile ;  "  I  have  no 
objection  in  life." 

"  But,  Lucy,  dear" — and  now  Mrs.  Robarts  put  her  arm 
round  her  sister-in-law's  waist — "  he  is  coming  here  espe- 
cially to  see  you." 

"  Oh,  that  makes  a  difference.  I  am  afraid  that  I  shall 
be — engaged." 

"  He  has  told  every  thing  to  Mark,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts. 

Lucy  now  felt  that  her  bravery  was  almost  deserting 
her.     She  hardly  knew  which  way  to  look  or  how  to  stand. 


348        .  FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

Had  Fanny  told  every  tiling  also  ?  There  Avas  so  much 
that  Fanny  knew  that  Lord  Lufton  could  not  have  known. 
But,  in  truth,  Fanny  had  told  all — the  whole  story  of  Lucy's 
love,  and  had  described  the  reasons  which  had  induced  her 
to  reject  her  suitor,  and  had  done  so  in  words  which,  had 
Lord  Lufton  heard  them,  would  have  made  him  twice  as 
passionate  in  his  love. 

And  then  it  certainly  did  occur  to  Lucy  to  think  why 
Lord  Lufton  should  have  come  to  Framley  and  told  all  this 
history  to  her  brother.  She  attempted  for  a  moment  to 
make  herself  believe  that  she  was  angry  with  him  for  do- 
ing so.  But  she  was  not  angry.  She  had  not  time  to  ar 
gue  much  about  it ;  but  there  came  upon  her  a  gratified 
sensation  of  having  been  remembered,  and  thought  of,  and 
— loved.  Must  it  not  be  so  ?  Could  it  be  possible  that  he 
himself  would  have  told  this  tale  to  her  brother  if  he  did 
not  still  love  her  ?  Fifty  times  she  had  said  to  herself  that 
his  offer  had  been  an  affair  of  the  moment,  and  fifty  times 
she  had  been  unhappy  in  so  saying.  But  this  new  coming 
of  his  could  not  be  an  affair  of  the  moment.  She  had  been 
the  dupe,  she  had  thought,  of  an  absurd  passion  on  her 
own  part ;  but  now — how  was  it  now  ?  She  did  not  bring 
herself  to  think  that  she  should  ever  be  Lady  Lufton.  She 
had  still,  in  some  perversely  obstinate  manner,  made  up 
her  mind  against  that  result.  But  yet,  nevertheless,  it  did 
in  some  unaccountable  manner  satisfy  her  to  feel  that  Lord 
Lufton  had  himself  come  down  to  Framley  and  himself  told 
this  story. 

"  He  has  told  every  thing  to  Mark,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts ; 
and  then  again  there  was  a  pause  for  a  moment,  during 
which  these  thoughts  passed  through  Lucy's  mind. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mark,  "  he  has  told  me  all,  and  he  is  coming 
here  to-morrow  morning  that  he  may  receive  an  answer 
from  yourself." 

"  What  answer  ?"  said  Lucy,  trembling. 

"  Nay,  dearest,  who  can  say  that  but  yourself?"  and  her 
sister-in-law,  as  she  spoke,  pressed  close  against  her.  "You 
must  say  that  yourself." 

Mrs.  Robarts,  in  her  long  conversation  with  her  husband, 
had  pleaded  strongly  on  Lucy's  behalf,  taking,  as  it  were, 
a  part  against  Lady  Lufton.  She  had  said  that  if  Lord 
Lufton  persevered  in  his  suit,  they  at  the  Parsonage  could 
not  be  justified  in  robbing  Lucy  of  all  that  she  had  won  for 
herself  in  order  to  do  Lady  Lufton's  pleasure. 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  349 

"  But  she  will  think,"  said  Mark,  "  that  we  have  plotted 
and  intrigued  for  this.  She  Avill  call  us  ungrateful,  and 
will  make  Lucy's  life  wretched."  To  which  the  wife  had 
answered  that  all  that  must  be  left  in  God's  hands.  They 
had  not  plotted  or  intrigued.  Lucy,  though  loving  the  man 
in  her  heart  of  hearts,  had  already  once  refused  him,  be- 
cause she  would  not  be  thought  to  have  snatched  at  so 
great  a  prize.  But  if  Lord  Lufton  loved  her  so  warmly 
that  he  had  come  down  there  in  this  manner,  on  purpose, 
as  he  himself  had  put  it,  that  he  might  learn  his  fate,  then 
— so  argued  Mrs.  liobarts — they  two,  let  their  loyalty  to 
Lady  Lufton  be  ever  so  strong,  could  not  justify  it  to  their 
consciences  to  stand  between  Lucy  and  her  lover.  Mark 
had  still  somewhat  demurred  to  this,  suggesting  how  ter- 
rible would  be  their  plight  if  they  should  now  encourage 
Lord  Lufton,  and  if  he,  after  such  encouragement,  when 
they  should  have  quarreled  with  Lady  Lufton,  should  allow 
himself  to  be  led  away  from  his  engagement  by  his  mother. 
'To  which  Fanny  had  announced  that  justice  was  justice, 
and  that  right  was  right.  Every  thing  must  be  told  to 
Lucy,  and  she  must  judge  for  herself 

"But  I  do  not  know  what  Lord  Lufton  wants,"  said 
Lucy,  wdth  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground,  and  now  trem- 
bling more  than  ever.  "  He  did  come  to  me,  and  I  did 
give  him  an  answer." 

"  And  is  that  answer  to  be  final  ?"  said  Mark,  somewhat 
cruelly,  for  Lucy  had  not  yet  been  told  that  her  lover  had 
made  any  repetition  of  his  proposal.  Fanny,  however,  de- 
termined that  no  injustice  should  be  done,  and  therefore 
she  at  last  continued  the  story. 

"  We  know  that  you  did  give  him  an  answer,  dearest, 
but  gentlemen  sometimes  will  not  put  up  with  one  answer 
on  such  a  subject.  Lord  Lufton  has  declared  to  Mark  that 
he  means  to  ask  again.  He  has  come  down  here  on  pur- 
pose to  do  so." 

"  And  Lady  Lufton — "  said  Lucy,  speaking  hardly  above 
a  w^hisper,  and  still  hiding  her  face  as  she  leaned  against 
her  sister's  shoulder. 

"Lord  Lufton  has  not  spoken  to  his  mother  about  it," 
said  Mark ;  and  it  immediately  became  clear  to  Lucy,  from 
the  tone  of  her  brother's  voice,  that  he,  at  least,  Avould  not 
be  pleased  should  she  accept  her  lover's  vow. 

"You  must  decide  out  of  your  own  heart,  dear,"  said 


350  FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

Fanny,  generously.  "Mark  and  I  know  bow  well  you 
have  behaved,  for  I  have  told  him  every  thing."  Lucy 
shuddered  and  leaned  closer  against  her  sister  as  this  was 
said  to  her.  "  I  had  no  alternative,  dearest,  but  to  tell  him. 
It  was  best  so,  was  it  not  ?  But  nothing  has  been  told  to 
Lord  Lufton.  Mark  would  not  let  him  come  here  to-day 
because  it  Avould  have  flurried  you,  and  he  wished  to  give 
you  time  to  think.  But  you  can  see  him  to-morrow  morn- 
ing, can  you  not  ?  and  then  answer  him." 

Lucy  now  stood  perfectly  silent,  feeling  that  she  dearly 
loved  her  sister-in-law  for  her  sisterly  kindness — for  that 
sisterly  wish  to  promote  a  sister's  love ;  but  still  there  was 
in  her  mind  a  strong  resolve  not  to  allow  Lord  Lufton  to 
come  there  under  the  idea  that  he  would  be  received  as  a 
favored  lover.  Her  love  was  powerful,  but  so  also  was  her 
pride ;  and  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  bear  the  scorn 
Avhich  would  lay  in  Lady  Lufton's  eyes.  "  His  mother  will 
despise  me,  and  then  he  will  despise  me  too,"  she  said  to 
herself;  and  with  a  strong  gulp  of  disappointed  love  and 
ambition  she  determined  to  persist. 

"  Shall  we  leave  you  now,  dear,  and  speak  of  it  again  to- 
morrow morning  before  he  comes  ?"  said  Fanny. 

"  That  will  be  tlie  best,"  said  Mark.  "  Turn  it  in  your 
mind  every  way  to-night.  Think  of  it  w^hen  you  have  said 
your  prayers^and,  Lucy,  come  -here  to  me ;"  then,  taking 
her  in  his  arms,  he  kissed  her  with  a  tenderness  that  was 
not  customary  with  him  toward  lier.  "  It  is  fair,"  said  he, 
"  that  I  should  tell  you  this — that  I  have  perfect  confidence 
in  your  judgment  and  feeling,  and  that  I  will  stand  by  you 
as  your  brother  in  whatever  decision  you  may  come  to. 
Fanny  and  I  both  think  that  you  have  behaved  excellently, 
and  are  both  of  us  sure  that  you  will  do  what  is  best. 
AVhatever  you  do  I  will  stick  to  you,  and  so  will  Fanny." 

"  Dearest,  dearest  Mark !" 

"And  now  we  will  say  nothing  more  about  it  till  to- 
morrow morning,"  said  Fanny. 

But  Lucy  felt  that  this  saying  nothing  more  about  it  till 
to-morrow  morning  would  be  tantamount  to  an  acceptance 
on  her  part  of  Lord  Lufton's  offer.  Mrs.  Robarts  knew, 
and  Mr.  Robarts  also  now  knew,  the  secret  of  her  heart ; 
and  if,  such  being  the  case,  she  allowed  Lord  Lufton  to 
come  there  with  the  acknowledged  purpose  of  pleading  his 
own  suit,  it  would  be  impossible  for  her  not  to  yield.     If 


FEAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  351 

she  were  resolved  that  she  would  not  yield,  now  was  the 
time  for  her  to  stand  her  ground  and  make  her  fight. 

"  Do  not  go,  Fanny — at  least  not  quite  yet,"  she  said. 

"Well,  dear?" 

"  I  want  you  to  stay  while  I  tell  Mark.  He  must  not  let 
Lord  Lufton  come  here  to-morrow." 

"  Not  let  him !"  said  Mrs.  Robarts. 

Mr.  Robarts  said  nothing,  but  he  felt  that  his  sister  was 
rising  in  his  esteem  from  minute  to  minute. 

"  No ;  Mark  must  bid  him  not  come.  He  will  not  wish 
to  pain  me  when  it  can  do  do  good.  Look  here,  Mark;" 
and  she  walked  over  to  her  brother,  and  put  both  her 
hands  upon  his  arm..  "I  do  love  Lord  Lufton.  I  had  no 
such  meaning  or  thought  when  I  first  knew  him.  But  I 
do  love  him — I  love  him  dearly — almost  as  well  as  Fanny 
loves  you,  I  suppose.  You  may  tell  him  so  if  you  think 
proper — nay,  you  must  tell  him  so,  or  he  will  not  under- 
stand me.  I3ut  tell  him  this  as  coming  from  me,  that  I 
will  never  marry  him  unless  his  mother  asks  me." 

"  She  will  not  do  that,  I  fear,"  said  Mark,  sorrowfully. 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  said  Lucy,  now  regaining  all  her 
courage.  "If  I  thought  it  probable  that  she  should  wish 
me  to  be  her  daughter-in-law,  it  would  not  be  necessary 
that  I  should  make  such  a  stipulation.  It  is  because  she 
will  not  wish  it — because  she  would  regard  me  as  unfit  to 
— to — to  mate  with  her  son.  She  would  hate  me,  and  scorn 
me ;  and  then  he  would  begin  to  scorn  me,  and  perhaps 
would  cease  to  love  me.  I  could  not  bear  her  eye  upon 
me  if  she  thought  that  I  had  injured  her  son.  Mark,  you 
will  go  to  him  now,  will  you  not  ?  and  explain  this  to 
him — as  much  of  it  as  is  necessary.  Tell  him  that  if  his 
mother  asks  me  I  will — consent ;  but  that,  as  I  know  that 
she  never  will,  he  is  to  look  upon  all  that  he  has  said  as  for- 
gotten. With  me  it  shall  be  the  same  as  though  it  Avere 
forgotten." 

Such  was  her  verdict ;  and  so  confident  were  they  both 
of  her  firmness — of  her  obstinacy  Mark  Avould  have  called 
it  on  any  other  occasion — that  they  neither  of  them  sought 
to  make  her  alter  it. 

"  You  will  go  to  him  now — this  afternoon,  will  you  not?" 
she  said ;  and  Mark  promised  that  he  would.  He  could 
not  but  feel  that  he  himself  was  greatly  relieved.  Lady 
Lufton  might  probably  hear  that  her  son  had  been  fool 


352  FE.\JVILEY  PARSONAGE. 

enough  to  fall  in  love  with  the  parson's  sister,  but,  under 
existing  circumstances,  she  could  not  consider  herself  ag- 
grieved either  by  the  parson  or  by  his  sister.  Lucy  was 
behaving  well,  and  Mark  was  proud  of  her.  Lucy  was 
behaving  with  fierce  spirit,  and  Fanny  was  grieving  .for 
her. 

"  I'd  rather  be  by  myself  till  dinner-time,"  said  Lucy,  as 
Mrs.  Robarts  prepared  to  go  with  her  out  of  the  room. 
"  Dear  Fanny,  don't  look  unhappy ;  there's  nothing  to 
make  us  unhappy.  I  told  you  I  should  want  goat's  milk, 
and  that  will  be  all." 

Robarts,  after  sitting  for  an  hour  with  his  wife,  did  re- 
turn again  to  Framley  Court,  and,  after  a  considerable 
search,  found  Lord  Lufton  returning  home  to  a  late  din- 
ner. 

"  Unless  my  mother  asks  her,"  said  he,  when  the  story 
had  been  told  him.  "  That  is  nonsense.  Surely  you  told 
her  that  such  is  not  the  way  of  the  world." 

Robarts  endeavored  to  explain  to  him  that  Lucy  could 
not  endure  to  think  that  her  husband's  mother  should  look 
on  her  with  disfavor. 

"  Does  she  think  that  my  mother  dislikes  her — her  spe- 
cially ?"  asked  Lord  Lufton. 

No,  Robarts  could  not  suppose  that  that  was  the  case ; 
but  Lady  Lufton  might  probably  think  that  a  marriage  with 
a  clergyman's  sister  would  be  a  mesalliance. 

"  That  is  out  of  the  question,"  said  Lord  Lufton,  "  as  she 
has  especially  wanted  me  to  marry  a  clergyman's  daughter 
for  some  time  past.  But,  Mark,  it  is  absurd  talking  about 
my  mother.  A  man  in  these  days  is  not  to  marry  as  his 
mother  bids  him." 

Mark  could  only  assure  him,  in  answer  to  all  this,  that 
Lucy  was  very  firm  in  what  she  was  doing ;  that  she  had 
quite  made  up  her  mind  ;  and  that  she  altogether  absolved 
Lord  Lufton  from  any  necessity  to  speak  to  his  mother,  if 
he  did  not  think  well  of  doing  so.  But  all  this  was  to 
very  little  purpose. 

"  She  does  love  me,  then  ?"  said  Lord  Lufton. 

"Well," said  Mark,  "I  will  not  say  whether  she  does  or 
does  not.  I  can  only  repeat  her  own  message.  She  can 
not  accept  you  unless  she  does  so  at  your  mother's  re- 
quest." And,  having  said  that  again,  he  took  his  leave 
and  went  back  to  the  Parsonac:*?. 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  353 

Poor  Lucy,  liaving  finished  her  interview  with  so  much 
dignity,  having  fully  satisfied  her  brother,  and  declined  any 
immediate  consolation  from  her  sister-in-law,  betook  her- 
self to  her  own  bedroom.  She  had  to  think  over  what  she 
had  said  and  done,  and  it  was  necessary  that  she  should  be 
alone  to  do  so.  It  might  be  that,  when  she  came  to  recon- 
sider the  matter,  she  would  not  be  quite  so  well  satisfied 
as  was  her  brother.  Her  grandeur  of  demeanor  and  slow 
l)ropriety  of  carriage  lasted  her  till  she  was  well  into  her 
own  room.  There  are  animals  who,  Avhen  they  are  ailing 
in  any  way,  contrive  to  hide  themselves,  ashamed,  as  it 
were,  that  the  weakness  of  their  suffering  should  be  wit- 
nessed. Indeed,  I  am  not  sure  whether  all  dumb  animals 
do  not  do  so  more  or  less,  and  in  this  respect  Lucy  was 
like  a  dumb  animal.  Even  in  her  confidences  with  Fanny 
she  made  a  joke  of  her  own  misfortunes,  and  spoke  of  her 
heart  ailments  with  self-ridicule.  But  now,  having  walked 
up  the  staircase  with  no  hurried  step,  and  having  deliber- 
ately locked  the  door,  she  turned  herself  round  to  sufiTer  in 
silence  and  solitude — as  do  the  beasts  and  birds. 

She  sat  herself  down  on  a  low  chair,  which  stood  at  the 
foot  of  her  bed,  and,  throwing  back  her  head,  held  her 
handkerchief  across  her  eyes  and  forehead,  holding  it  tight 
in  both  her  hands ;  and  then  she  began  to  think.  She  be- 
gan to  think  and  also  to  cry,  for  the  tears  came  running 
doAvn  from  beneath  the  handkerchief;  and  low  sobs  were 
to  be  heard — only  that  the  animal  had  taken  itself  off"  to 
suffer  in  solitude. 

Had  she  not  thrown  from  her  all  her  chances  of  happi- 
ness? Was  it  possible  that  he  should  come  to  her  yet 
again — a  third  time  ?  No,  it  was  not  possible.  The  very 
mode  and  pride  of  this,  her  second  rejection  of  him,  made 
it  impossible.  In  coming  to  her  determination  and  making 
her  avowal,  she  had  been  actuated  by  the  knowledge  that 
Lady  Lufton  would  regard  such  a  marriage  with  abhor- 
rence. Lady  Lufton  would  not,  and  could  not  ask  her  to 
condescend  to  be  her  son's  bride.  Iler  chance  of  happi- 
ness, of  glory,  of  ambition,  of  love,  w^as  all  gone.  She  had 
sacrificed  every  thing,  not  to  virtue,  but  to  j^ride.  And 
she  had  sacrificed  not  only  herself,  but  liim.  When  first 
he  came  there — when  she  had  meditated  over  his  first  visit, 
she  had  hardly  given  him  credit  for  deep  love ;  but  now — 
there  could  be  no  doubt  that  he  loved  her  now.     After  his 


354  TRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

season  in  London,  his  days  and  nights  jDassed  with  all  that 
was  beautiful,  he  had  returned  there,  to  that  little  country 
parsonage,  that  he  might  throw  himself  again  at  her  feet. 
And  she — she  had  refused  to  see  him,  though  she  loved 
him  with  all  her  heart ;  she  had  refused  to  see  him  because 
she  was  so  vile  a  coward  that  she  could  not  bear  the  sour 
looks  of  an  old  woman. 

"  I  will  come  down  directly,"  she  said,  when  Fanny  at 
last  knocked  at  the  door,  begging  to  be  admitted.  "I 
Avon't  open  it,  love,  but  I  will  be  with  you  in  ten  minutes 
— I  will,  indeed."  And  so  she  was ;  not,  perhaps,  without 
traces  of  tears,  discernible  by  the  experienced  eye  of  Mrs. 
Robarts,but  yet  with  a  smooth  brow,  and  voice  under  her 
own  command. 

"  I  wonder  whether  she  really  loves  him,"  Mark  said  to 
his  wife  that  night. 

"  Love  him !"  his  wife  had  answered ;  "  indeed  she  does ; 
and,  Mark,  do  not  be  led  away  by  the  stern  quiet  of  her 
demeanor.  To  my  thinking  she  is  a  girl  who  might  almost 
die  for  love." 

On  the  next  day  Lord  Lufton  left  Framley,  and  started, 
according  to  his  arrangements,  for  the  Norway  salmon 
fishinGT. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE    GOAT    AND    COMPASSES. 


Harold  Smith  had  been  made  unhappy  by  that  rumor 
of  a  dissolution,  but  the  misfortune  to  him  would  be  as 
nothing  compared  to  the  severity  with  which  it  would  fall 
on  Mr.  Sowerby.  Harold  Smith  might  or  might  not  lose 
his  borough,  but  Mr.  Sowerby  would  undoubtedly  lose  his 
county,  and  in  losing  that  he  would  lose  every  thing.  He 
felt  very  certain  now  that  the  duke  would  not  support  him 
again,  let  who  would  be  master  of  Chaldicotes,  and  as  he 
reflected  on  these  things  he  found  it  very  hard  to  keep  up 
his  spirits. 

Tom  Towers,  it  seems,  had  known  all  about  it,  as  he  al- 
ways does.  The  little  remark  which  had  dropped  from 
him  at  Miss  Dunstable's,  made,  no  doubt,  after  mature  do- 
liberation,  and  with  profound  political  motives,  was  the 
forerunner,  only  by  twelve  hours,  of  a  very  general  report 


FRAMLEY   PARSOXAGE.  355 

that  the  giants  were  going  to  the  country.  It  was  mani- 
fest that  the  giants  had  not  a  majority  in  Parliament,  gen- 
erous as  Iiad  been  the  promises  of  support  disinterestedly 
made  to  them  by  the  gods.  This  indeed  was  manifest, 
and  therefore  they  were  going  to  the  country,  although 
they  had  been  deliberately  warned  by  a  very  prominent 
scion  of  Olympus  that  if  they  did  go  that  disinterested  sup- 
port must  be  withdrawn.  This  threat  did  not  seem  to 
weigh  much,  and  by  two  o'clock  on  the  day  following  Miss 
Dunstable's  party  the  fiat  was  presumed  to  have  gone  forth. 
The  rumor  had  begun  with  Tom  Towers,  but  by  that  time 
it  had  reached  Buggins  at  the  Petty  Bag  Office. 

"  It  won't  make  no  difference  to  hus,  sir ;  will  it,  Mr. 
Robarts  ?"  said  Buggins,  as  he  leaned  respectfully  against 
the  wall  near  the  door,  in  the  room  of  the  private  secretary 
at  that  establishment. 

A  good  deal  of  conversation,  miscellaneous,  special,  and 
political,  went  on  between  young  Robarts  and  Buggins  in 
the  course  of  the  day,  as  was  natural,  seeing  that  they  were 
thrown  in  these  evil  times  very  much  upon  each  other. 
The  Lord  Petty  Bag  of  the  present  ministry  was  not  such 
a  one  as  Harold  Smith.  He  was  a  giant  indifferent  to  his 
private  notes,  and  careless  as  to  the  duties  even  of  patron- 
age ;  he  rarely  visited  the  office,  and  as  there  were  no 
other  clerks  in  the  establishment — owing  to  a  root  and 
branch  reform  carried  out  in  the  short  reign  of  Harold 
Smith — to  whom  could  young  Robarts  talk,  if  not  to  Bug- 
gins? 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  said  Robarts,  as  he  completed  on 
his  blotting-paper  an  elaborate  picture  of  a  Turk  seated  on 
his  divan. 

"  'Cause,  you  see,  sir,  we're  in  the  Upper  'Ouse  now,  as  I 
always  thinks  we  bought  to  be.  I  don't  think  it  ain't  con- 
stitutional for  the  Petty  Bag  to  be  in  the  Commons,  Mr. 
Robarts.     Hany  ways,  it  never  nsen't." 

"They're  changing  all  those  sort  of  things  nowadays, 
Buggins,"  said  Robarts,  giving  the  final  touch  to  the  Turk's 
smoke. 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Mr.  Robarts,  I  think  I'll 
go.  I  can't  stand  all  these  changes.  I'm  turned  of  sixty 
now,  and  don't  want  any  'stifflicates.  I  think  I'll  take  my 
pension  and  walk.  The  hoffice  ain't  the  same  place  at  all 
since  it  come  down  among  the  Commons."     And  then 


850  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

Buggiiis  retired  sighing,  to  console  himself  with  a  pot  of 
porter  behind  a  large  open  office  ledger,  set  up  on  end  on 
a  small  table  in  the  little  lobby  outside  the  private  secre- 
tary's room.  Buggins  sighed  again  as  he  saw  that  the 
date  made  visible  in  the  open  book  was  almost  as  old  as 
his  own  appointment ;  for  such  a  book  as  this  lasted  long 
in  the  Petty  Bag  Office.  A  peer  of  high  degree  had  been 
Lord  Petty  Bag  in  those  days — one  whom  a  messenger's 
heart  could  respect  with  infinite  veneration,  as  he  made  his 
imaccustomed  visits  to  the  office  with  much  solemnity  per- 
haps four  times  during  the  season.  The  Lord  Petty  Bag 
then  was  highly  regarded  by  his  staff,  and  his  coming  among 
them  was  talked  about  for  some  hours  previously  and  for 
some  days  afterward ;  but  Harold  Smith  had  bustled  in  and 
out  like  the  managing  clerk  in  a  Manchester  house.  "  The 
service  is  going  to  the  dogs,"  said  Buggins  to  himself,  as 
he  put  down  the  porter-pot  and  looked  up  over  the  book 
at  a  gentleman  who  presented  himself  at' the  door. 

"  Mr.  Robarts  in  his  room?"  said  Buggins,  repeating  the 
gentleman's  words.  "  Yes,  Mr.  Sowerby,  you'll  find  him 
there  —  first  door  to  the  left."  And  then,  remembering 
that  the  visitor  was  a  county  member,  a  position  which 
Buggins  regarded  as  next  to  that  of  a  peer,  he  got  up,  and, 
opening  the  private  secretary's  door,  ushered  in  the  visitor. 

Young  Robarts  and  Mr.  Sowerby  had,  of  course,  become 
acquainted  in  the  days  of  Harold  Smith's  reign.  During 
that  short  time  the  member  for  East  Barset  had  on  most 
days  dropped  in  at  the  Petty  Bag  Office  for  a  minute  or 
two,  finding  out  what  the  energetic  cabinet  minister  was 
doing,  chatting  on  semi-official  subjects,  and  teaching  the 
private  secretary  to  laugh  at  his  master.  There  was  noth- 
ing, therefore,  in  his  present  visit  which  need  appear  to  be 
singular,  or  which  required  any  immediate  special  explana- 
tion. He  sat  himself  down  in  his  ordinary  way,  and  began 
to  speak  of  the  subject  of  the  day. 

"  We're  all  to  go,"  said  Sowerby. 

"  So  I  hear,"  said  the  private  secretary.  "  It  will  give 
me  no  trouble ;  for,  as  the  respectable  Buggins  says,  we're 
in  the  Upper  House  now." 

"  What  a  dehghtful  time  those  lucky  dogs  of  lords  do 
have !"  said  Sowerby.  "  Xo  constituents,  no  turning  out, 
no  fighting,  no  necessity  for  political  opinions — and,  as  a 
rule,  no  such  opinions  at  all !" 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  357 

*'  I  suppose  you're  tolerably  safe  in  East  Barsetshire  ?" 
said  Robarts.  "  The  duke  has  it  pretty  much  his  own  way 
there." 

"  Yes,  the  duke  does  have  it  pretty  mucli  his  own  way. 
By-the-by,  where  is  your  brother  ?" 

"  At  home,"  said  Robarts ;  "  at  least  I  presume  so." 

"At  Framley  or  at  Barchester?  I  believe  he  was  in 
residence  at  Barchester  not  long  since." 

"  He's  at  Framley  now,  I  know.  I  got  a  letter  only  yes- 
terday from  his  Avfe,  witli  a  commission.  He  was  there, 
and  Lord  Lufton  had  just  left." 

"  Yes,  Lufton  Avas  down.  He  started  for  Norway  this 
morning.  I  want  to  see  your  brother.  You  liave  not 
heard  from  him  yourself,  have  you  ?" 

"  No,  not  lately.  Mark  is  a  bad  correspondent.  He 
would  not  do  at  all  for  a  private  secretary." 

"  At  any  rate,  not  to  Harold  Smith.  But  you  are  sure 
I  should  not  catch  him  at  Barchester  ?" 

"  Send  down  by  telegraph,  and  he  would  meet  you." 

"  I  don't  want  to  do  that.  A  telegraph  message  makes 
such  a  fuss  in  the  country,  frightening  people's  wives,  and 
setting  all  the  horses  about  the  place  galloping." 

"What  is  it  about?" 

"Nothing  of  any  great  consequence.  I  didn't  know 
whether  he  might  have  told  you.  I'll  write  down  by  to- 
night's post,  and  then  he  can  meet  me  at  Barchester  to-mor- 
row. Or  do  you  write.  There's  nothing  I  hate  so  much 
as  letter-writing.  Just  tell  him  that  I  called,  and  that  I 
shall  be  much  obliged  if  he  can  meet  me  at  the  Dragon  of 
Wantley — say  at  two  to-morrow.  I  will  go  dowm  by  the 
express." 

Mark  Robarts,  in  talking  over  this  coming  money  trouble 
with  Sowerby,  had  once  mentioned  that  if  it  Avere  neces- 
sary to  take  up  the  bill  for  a  short  time  he  might  be  able 
to  borrow  the  money  from  his  brother.  So  much  of  the 
father's  legacy  still  remained  in  the  hands  of  the  private 
secretary  as  -would  enable  him  to  produce  the  amount  of 
the  latter  bill,  and  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  he  would 
lend  it  if  asked.  Mr.  Sowerby's  visit  to  the  Petty  Bag 
Office  had  been  caused  by  a  desire  to  learn  whether  any 
such  request  had  been  made,  and  also  by  a  half-formed  res- 
olution to  make  the  request  himself  if  he  should  find  that 
the  clergyman  had  not  done  so.     It  seemed  to  him  to  be 


358  FEAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

a  pity  that  such  a  sum  should  be  lying  about,  as  it  were, 
within  reach,  and  that  he  should  not  stoop  to  put  his  hands 
ujion  it.  Such  abstinence  would  be  so  contrary  to  all  the 
practice  of  his  life  that  it  was  as  difficult  to  him  as  it  is  for 
a  sportsman  to  let  pass  a  cock-pheasant.  But  yet  some- 
thing like  remorse  touched  his  heart  as  he  sat  there  bal- 
ancing himself  on  his  chair  in  the  private  secretary's  room, 
and  looking  at  the  young  man's  open  face. 

"  Yes,  I'll  write  to  him,"  said  John  Kobarts ;  "  but  ho 
hasn't  said  any  thing  to  me  about  any  thing  particular." 

"Hasn't  he?  It  does  not  much  signify.  I  only  men- 
tioned it  because  I  thought  I  understood  him' to  say  that 
he  would."  And  then  Mr.  Sowerby  went  on  swinging 
hhnself.  How  was  it  that  he  felt  so  averse  to  mention 
that  little  sum  of  £500  to  a  young  man  like  John  Robarts, 
a  fellow  without  wife  or  children,  or  calls  on  him  of  any 
sort,  who  would  not  even  be  injured  by  the  loss  of  the 
money,  seeing  that  he  had  an  ample  salary  on  which  to 
live  ?  He  wondered  at  his  own  weakness.  The  Avant  of 
the  money  was  urgent  on  him  in  the  extreme.  He  had 
reasons  for  supposing  that  Mark  would  find  it  very  difficult 
to  renew  the  bills,  but  he,  Sowerby,  could  stop  their  pre- 
sentation if  he  could  get  this  money  at  once  into  his  own 
hands. 

"  Can  I  do  any  thing  for  you  ?"  said  the  innocent  lamb, 
offering  his  throat  to  the  butcher. 

But  some  unwonted  feeling  numbed  the  butcher's  fingers 
and  blunted  his  knife.  He  sat  still  for  half  a  minute  after 
the  question,  and  then  jumping  from  his  seat,  declined  the 
offer.  "  No,  no,  nothing,  thank  you.  Only  write  to  Mark, 
and  say  that  I  shall  be  there  to-morrow  ;"  and  then,  taking 
his  hat,  he  hurried  out  of  the  office.  "  "What  an  ass  I  am," 
he  said  to  himself  as  he  went ;  "  as  if  it  were  of  any  use 
now  to  be  particular !" 

He  then  got  into  a  cab  and  had  himself  driven  half  way 
up  Portman  Street  toward  the  New  Road,  and  walking 
from  thence  a  few  hundred  yards  down  a  cross  street,  he 
came  to  a  public  house.  It  was  called  the  "  Goat  and  Com- 
passes"— a  very  meaningless  name,  one  would  say;  but  the 
house  boasted  of  being  a  place  of  public  entertainment 
very  long  established  on  that  site,  having  been  a  tavern 
out  in  the  country  in  the  days  of  Cromwell.  At  that  time 
the  pious  landlord,  putting  up  a  pious  legend  for  the  bene- 


FKA^ILEY    PARSONAGE.  359 

fit  of  his  pious  customers,  had  declared  that  "  God  encoiu- 
passetli  us."  The  "  Goat  and  Compasses"  in  these  days 
does  quite  as  well,  and,  considering  the  present  character 
of  the  house,  was  perhaps  less  unsuitable  than  the  old 
legend. 

"  Is  Mr.  Austen  here  ?"  asked  Mr.  Sowerby  of  the  man 
at  the  bar. 

"  Which  on  'em  ?  Not  Mr.  John ;  he  ain't  here.  Mr. 
Tom  is  in — tlie  little  room  on  the  left-hand  side."  The 
man  whom  Mr.  Sowerby  would  have  preferred  to  see  was 
the  elder  brother,  John ;  but,  as  he  Avas  not  to  be  found, 
he  did  go  into  the  little  room.  In  that  room  he  found — 
Mr.  Austen,  junior,  according  to  one  arrrangement  of  no- 
menclature, and  Mr.  Tom  Tozer  according  to  another.  To 
gentlemen  of  the  legal  profession  he  generally  chose  to  in- 
troduce himself  as  belonging  to  the  respectable  family  of 
the  Austens,  but  among  his  intimates  he  had  always  been 
—Tozer. 

Mr.  Sowerby,  though  he  was  intimate  with  the  fjimily, 
did  not  love  the  Tozers,  but  he  especially  hated  Tom  To- 
zer. Tom  Tozer  was  a  bull-necked,  beetle-browed  fellow, 
the  expression  of  whose  face  was  eloquent  with  acknowl- 
edged roguery.  "I  am  a  rogue,"  it  seemed  to  say.  "I 
know  it ;  all  the  world  knows  it ;  but  you're  another.  All 
the  world  don't  know  that,  but  I  do.  Men  are  all  rogues, 
pretty  nigh.  Some  are  soft  rogues,  and  some  are  'cute 
rogues.  I  am  a  'cute  one ;  so  mind  your  eye."  It  was 
with  such  words  that  Tom  Tozer's  face  spoke  out ;  and, 
though  a  thorough  liar  in  his  heart,  he  was  not  a  liar  in 
his  face. 

"  Well,  Tozer,"  said  Mr.  Sowerby,  absolutely  shaking 
hands  with  the  dirty  miscreant,  "I  wanted  to  see  your 
brother." 

"  John  ain't  here,  and  ain't  like ;  but  it's  all  as  one." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  suppose  it  is.  I  know  you  two  hunt  in 
couples." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  about  hunting,  Mr.  Sow- 
erby. You  gents  'as  all  the  hunting,  and  we  poor  folk  'as 
all  the  work.  I  hope  you're  going  to  make  up  this  trifle 
of  money  we're  out  of  so  long.". 

"It's  about  that  I've  called.  I  don't  know  what  you 
call  long,  Tozer,  but  the  last  bill  was  only  dated  in  Feb- 
ruary." 


360  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

"  It's  overdue,  ain't  it  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  it's  overdue.     There's  no  doubt  about  that." 

"  Well,  when  a  bit  of  paper  is  come  round,  the  next  thing 
is  to  take  it  up.  Them's  my  ideas.  And,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  Mr.  Sowerby,  we  don't  think  as  'ow  you've  been 
treating  us  just  on  the  square  lately.  In  that  matter  of 
Lord  Lufton's  you  was  down  on  us  uncommon." 

"  You  know  I  couldn't  help  myself." 

"  Well,  and  we  can't  help  ourselves  now.  That's  where 
it  is,  Mr.  Sowerby.  Lord  love  you,  we  know  what's  what, 
we  do.  And  so,  the  fact  is,  we're  uncommon  low  as  to  the 
ready  just  at  present,  and  we  must  have  them  few  hundred 
pounds.  We  must  have  them  at  once,  or  we  must  sell  up 
that  clerical  gent.  I'm  dashed  if  it  ain't  as  hard  to  get 
money  from  a  parson  as  it  is  to  take  a  bone  from  a  dog. 
'E's  'ad  'is  account,  no  doubt,  and  why  don't  'e  pay  ?" 

Mr.  Sowerby  had  called  with  the  intention  of  explaining 
that  he  was  about  to  proceed  to  Barchester  on  the  follow- 
ing day  Avith  the  express  view  of  "  making  arrangements" 
about  this  bill,  and,  had  he  seen  John  Tozer,  John  would 
have  been  compelled  to  accord  to  him  some  little  exten- 
sion of  time.  Both  Tom  and  John  knciv  this,  and  there- 
fore John — the  soft-hearted  one — kept  out  of  the  way. 
There  w^as  no  danger  that  Tom  would  be  w^eak ;  and,  after 
some  half  hour  of  parley,  he  was  again  left  by  Mr.  Sowerby 
without  having  evinced  any  symptom  of  weakness. 

"  It's  the  dibs  as  we  want,  Mr.  Sowerby,  that's  all,"  were 
the  last  words  which  he  spoke  as  the  member  of  Parliament 
left  the  room. 

Mr.  Sowerby  then  got  into  another  cab,  and  had  him- 
self driven  to  his  sister's  house.  It  is  a  remarkable  thing 
with  reference  to  men  who  are  distressed  for  money — dis- 
tressed as  was  now  the  case  with  Mr.  Sowerby — that  they 
never  seem  at  a  loss  for  small  sums,  or  deny  themselves 
those  luxuries  which  small  sums  purchase.  Cabs,  dinners, 
wine,  theatres,  and  new  gloves  are  always  at  the  command 
of  men  who  are  drowned  in  pecuniary  embarrassments, 
whereas  those  who  don't  owe  a  shilling  are  so  frequently 
obliged  to  go  without  them !  It  would  seem  that  there  is 
no  gratification  so  costly  as  that  of  keeping  out  of  debt. 
But  then  it  is  only  fair  that,  if  a  man  has  a  hobby,  he  should 
pay  for  it. 

Any  one  else  would  have  saved  his  shilling,  as  Mrs. 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  361 

Harold  Smith's  house  was  only  just  across  Oxford  Street, 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Hanover  Square  ;  but  Mr.  Sowerby 
never  thought  of  this.  He  had  never  saved  a  shilling  in 
his  life,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  him  to  begin  now.  Heliad 
sent  word  to  her  to  remain  at  home  for  him,  and  he  now 
found  her  waiting. 

"  Harriet,"  said  he,  throwing  himself  back  into  an  easy- 
chair,  "  the  game  is  pretty  well  up  at  last." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  she.  "  The  game  is  not  up  at  all,  if 
you  have  the  spirit  to  carry  it  on." 

"  I  can  only  say  that  I  got  a  formal  notice  this  morning 
from  the  duke's  lawyer,  saying  that  he  meant  to  foreclose 
at  once — not  from  Fothergill,  but  from  those  peoi)le  in 
South  Audley  Street." 

"  You  expected  that,"  said  his  sister. 

"  I  don't  see  how  that  makes  it  any  better ;  besides,  I 
am  not  quite  sure  that  I.  did  expect  it ;  at  any  rate,  I  did 
not  feel  certain.     There  is  no  doubt  now." 

"  It  is  better  that  there  should  be  no  doubt.  It  is  much 
better  that  you  should  know  on  what  ground  you  have  to 
stand." 

"  I  shall  soon  have  no  ground  to  stand  on — none  at  least 
of  my  own — not  an  acre,"  said  the  unhappy  man,  with  great 
bitterness  in  his  tone. 

"  You  can't  in  reality  be  poorer  now  than  you  were  last 
year.  You  have  not  spent  any  thing  to  speak  of.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  that  Chaldicotes  will  be  ample  to  pay  all 
you  owe  the  duke." 

"  It's  as  much  as  it  will ;  and  what  am  I  to  do  then  ?  I 
almost  think  more  of  the  seat  than  I  do  of  Chaldicotes." 

"You  know  what  I  advise,"  said  Mrs.  Smith.  "Ask 
Miss  Dunstable  to  advance  the  money  on  the  same  securi- 
ty which  the  duke  holds.  She  will  be  as  safe  then  as  he  is 
now.  And  if  you  can  arrange  that,  stand  for  the  county 
against  him ;  perhaps  you  may  be  beaten." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  a  chance." 

"  But  it  would  show  that  you  are  not  a  creature  in  the 
duke's  hands.  That's  my  advice,"  said  Mrs.  Smith,  with 
much  spirit ;  "  and,  if  you  wish,  I'll  broach  it  to  Miss  Dun- 
stable, and  ask  her- to  get  her  lawyer  to  look  into  it." 

"  If  I  had  done  this  before  I  had  run  my  head  into  that 
other  absurdity !" 

"  Don't  fret  yourself  about  that ;  she  will  lose  nothing 
Q 


362  FRAMLEY    PAKSONAGE. 

by  such  an  investment,  and  therefore  .you  are  not  asking 
any  favor  of  her.  Besides,  did  she  not  make  the  offer  ? 
and  she  is  just  the  woman  to  do  this  for  you  now,  be- 
cause she  refused  to  do  that  other  thing  for  you  yesterday. 
You  understand  most  things,  Nathaniel,  but  I  am  not  sure 
that  you  understand  women — not,  at  any  rate,  such  a  woman 
as  her." 

It  went  against  the  grain  with  Mr.  Sowerby,  this  seeking 
of  pecuniary  assistance  from  the  very  woman  whose  hand 
he  had  attempted  to  gain  about  a  fortnight  since ;  but  he 
allowed  his  sister  to  prevail.  What  could  any  man  do  in 
such  straits  that  would  not  go  against  the  grain  ?  At  the 
present  moment  he  felt  in  his  mind  an  infinite  hatred  against 
the  duke,  Mr.  Fothergill,  Gumption  and  Gagebee,  and  all 
the  tribes  of  Gatherum  Castle  and  South  Audley  Street ; 
they  wanted  to  rob  him  of  that  which  had  belonged  to  the 
Sowerbys  before  the  name  of  Omnium  had  been  heard  of 
in  the  county,  or  in  England!  The  great  leviathan  of  the 
deep  was  anxious  to  swallow  him  up  as  a  prey !  He  was 
to  be  SAvallowed  up,  and  made  away  with,  and  put  out  of 
sight,  without, a  pang  of  remorse!  Any  measure  which 
could  now  present  itself  as  the  means  of  staving  off -so  evil 
a  day  would  be  acceptable,  and  therefore  he  gave  his  sister 
the  commission  of  making  this  second  proposal  to  Miss 
Dunstable.  In  cursing  the  duke — for  he  did  curse  the 
duke  lustily — it  hardly  occurred  to  him  to  think  that,  after 
all,  the  duke  only  asked  for  his  own. 

As  for  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  whatever  may  be  the  view 
taken  of  her  general  character  as  a  wife  and  a.  member  of 
society,  it  must  be  admitted  that  as  a  sister  she  had  virtues. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

co:nsolation. 

On  the  next  day,  at  two  o'clock  punctually,  Mark  Ro- 
barts  was  at  the  "Dragon  of  Wantiey,"  walldng  up  and 
down  the  very  room  in  which  the  party  had  breakfasted 
after  Harold  Smith's  lecture,  and  waiting  for  the  arrival 
of  Mr.  Sowerby.  He  had  been  very  well  able  to  divine 
what  was  the  business  on  which  his  friend  wished  to  see 
him,  and  he  had  been  rather  glad  than  otherwise  to  receive 
the  summons.     Judging  of  his  friend's  qharacter  by  what 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  363 

he  had  hitherto  seen,  he  thought  that  Mr.  Sowcrby  would 
liave  kept  out  of  the  way,  unless  he  had  it  in  his  power  to 
make  some  provision  for  these  terrible  bills.  So  he  walked 
up  and  down  the  dingy  room,  impatient  for  the  expected 
arrival,  and  thought  himself  wickedly  ill  «sed  in  that  Mr. 
Sowerby  was  not  there  when  the  clock  struck  a  quarter  to 
three.  But  when  the  clock  struck  three  Mr.  Sowerby  was 
there,  and  Mark  Robarts's  hopes  were  nearly  at  an  end. 

"Do  you  mean  that  they  will  demand  nine  hundred 
pounds  ?"  said  Robarts,  standing  up  and  glaring  angrily 
at  the  member  of  Parliament. 

"  I  fear  that  they  will,"  said  Sowerby.  "  I  think  it  is 
best  to  tell  you  the  worst,  in  order  that  we  may  see  what 
can  be  done."  * 

"  I  can  do  nothing,  and  will  do  nothing,"  said  Robarts. 
"They  may  do  what  they  choose — what  the  law  allows 
them." 

And  then  he  thought  of  Fanny  and  his  nursery,  and 
Lucy  refusing  in  her  pride  Lord  Lufton's  offer,  and  he 
turned  away  his  face  that  the  hard  man  of  the  w^orld  be- 
fore him  might  not  see  the  tear  gathering  in  his  eye. 

"  But,  Mark,  my  dear  fellow — "  said  Sowcrby,  trying  to 
have  recourse  to  the  power  of  his  cajoling  voice. 

Robarts,  however,  would  not  listen. 

"Mr.  Sowerby,"  said  he,  with  an  attempt  at  calmness 
which  betrayed  itself  at  every  syllable,  "it  seems  to  me 
that  you  have  robbed  me.  That  I  have  been  a  fool,  and 
worse  than  a  fool,  I  know  well;  but — but — but  I  thought 
tliat  your  position  in  the  world  would  guarantee  me  from 
such  treatment  as  this." 

Mr.  Sowerby  was  by  no  means  without  feeling,  and  the 
words  which  he  now  heard  cut  him  very  deeply — the  more 
so  because  it  was  impossible  that  he  should  answer  them 
with  an  attempt  at  indignation.  He  had  robbed  his  friend, 
and,  with  all  his  wit,  knew  no  w^ords  at  the  present  moment 
sufficiently  witty  to  make  it  seem  that  he  had  not  done  so. 

"Robarts,"  said  he,  "you  may  say  what  you  like  to  me 
now  ;  I  shall  not  resent  it." 

"Who  would  care  for  your  resentment?"  said  the  cler- 
gyman, turning  on  him  with  ferocity.  "The  resentment 
of  a  gentleman  is  terrible  to  a  gentleman,  and  the  resent- 
ment of  one  just  man  is  terrible  to  another.  Your  resent- 
ment !"  and  then  he  walked  twice  the  length  of  the  room, 


364  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

leaving  Sowerby  dumb  in  his  seat.  "  I  wonder  whether 
you  ever  thought  of  my  wife  and  children  when  you  were 
plotting  this  ruin  for  me!"  And  then  again  he  walked 
the  room. 

"  I  suppose  you  will  be  calm  enough  presently  to  speak 
of  this  with  some  attempt  to  make  a  settlement  ?" 

"  No,  I  will  make  no  such  attempt.  These  friends  of 
yours,  you  tell  me,  have  a  claim  on  me  for  nine  hundred 
pounds,  of  Avhich  they  demand  the  immediate  payment. 
You  shall  be  asked  in  a  court  of  law  how  much  of  that 
money  I  have  handled.  You  know  that  I  have  never 
touched — have  never  wanted  to  touch — one  shilling.  I 
will  make  no  attempt  at  any  settlement.  My  person  is 
here,  and  there  is  my  house.     Let  them  do  their  worst." 

"  But,  Mark—" 

"  Call  me  by  my  name,  sir,  and  drop  that  affectation  of 
regard.  What  an  ass  I  have  been  to  be  so  cozened  by  a 
sharper !" 

Sowerby  had  by  no  means  expected  this.  lie  had  al- 
ways known  that  Ilobarts  possessed  what  he,  Sowerby, 
would  have  called  the  spirit  of  a  gentleman.  lie  had  re- 
garded him  as  a  bold,  open,  generous  fellow,  able  to  take 
his  own  part  when  called  on  to  do  so,  and  by  no  means 
disinclined  to  speak  his  own  mind  ;  but  he  had  not  expect- 
ed from  him  such  a  torrent  of  indignation,  or  thought  that 
he  was  capable  of  such  a  depth  of  anger. 

"  If  you  use  such  language  as  that,  Robarts,  I  can  only 
leave  you." 

"  You  are  welcome.  Go.  You  tell  me  that  you  are  the 
messenger  of  these  men  who  intend  to  work  nine  hundred 
pounds  out  of  me.  You  have  done  your  part  in  the  plot, 
and  have  now  brought  their  message.  It  seems  to  me 
that  you  had  better  go  back  to  them.  As  for  me,  I  want 
my  time  to  prepare  my  wife  for  the  destiny  before  her." 

"Robarts,  you  will  be  sorry  some  day  for  the  cruelty 
of  your  words." 

"  I  wonder  whether  you  will  ever  be  sorry  for  the  cru- 
elty of  your  doings,  or  whether  these  things  are  really  a 
joke  to  you." 

"I  am  at  this  moment  a  ruined  man,"  said  Sowerby. 
"  Every  thing  is  going  from  me — my  place  in  the  Avorld, 
the  estate  of  my  family,  my  father's  house,  my  seat  in  Par- 
liament, the  power  of  living  among  my  countrymen,  or,  in- 


FRAMLEY    PAESONAGE.  3G5 

deed,  of  living  any  where ;  but  all  this  does  not  ojDpress 
nie  now  so  much  as  the  misery  which  I  have  brought  upon 
you."  And  then  Sowerby  also  turned  away  his  face,  and 
wiped  from  his  eyes  tears  which  were  not  artificial. 

Robarts  was  still  walking  up  and  down  the  room,  but 
it  was  not  possible  for  him  to  continue  his  reproaches  after 
this.  This  is  always  the  case.  Let  a  man  endure  to  heap 
contumely  on  his  own  head,  and  he  will  silence  the  con- 
tumely of  others  —  for  the  moment.  Sowerby,  Avithout 
meditating  on  the  matter,  had  had  some  inkling  of  this, 
and  immediately  saw  that  there  was  at  last  an  opening  for 
conversation. 

"You  are  unjust  to  me,"  said  ho,  "in  supposing  that  I 
liave  now^  no  wish  to  save  you.  It  is  solely  in  the  liope 
of  doing  so  that  I  have  come  here." 

"And  what  is  your  hope?  That  I  should  accept  an- 
other brace  of  bills,  I  suppose." 

"Not  a  brace,  but  one  renewed  bill  for — " 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Sow^erby.  On  no  earthly  consideration 
that  can  be  put  before  me  will  I  again  sign  my  name  to 
any  bill  in  the  guise  of  an  acceptance.  I  have  been  very 
weak,  and  am  ashamed  of  my  weakness ;  but  so  much 
strength  as  that,  I  hope,  is  left  to  me.  I  have  been  very 
wicked,  and  am  ashamed  of  my  wickedness ;  but  so  much 
right  principle  as  that,  I  hope,  remains.  I  will  put  my 
name  to  no  other  bill — not  for  you,  not  even  for  myself." 

"  But,  Robarts,  under  your  present  circumstances  that 
will  be  madness." 

"Then  I  will  be  mad." 

"  Have  you  seen  Forrest  ?  If  you  will  speak  to  him  I 
think  you  will  find  that  every  thing  can  be  accommodated." 

"  I  already  owe  Mr.  Forrest  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds, 
which  I  obtained  from  him  when  you  pressed  me  for  the 
price  of  that  horse,  and  I  will  not  increase  the  debt.  What 
a  fool  I  was  again  there.  Perhaps  you  do  not  remember 
that,  when  I  agreed  to  buy  the  horse,  the  price  was  to  be 
my  contribution  to  the  liquidation  of  these  bills." 

."  I  do  remember  it ;  but  I  will  tell  you  how  that  w^as." 

"  It  does  not  signify.     It  has  been  all  of  a  piece." 

"  But  listen  to  me.  I  think  you  would  feel  for  me  if  you 
knew  all  that  I  have  gone  through.  I  pledge  you  my  sol- 
emn word  that  I  had  no  intention  of  asking  you  for  the 
money  w^hen  you  took  the  horse — indeed  I  had  not.     But 


3GG  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

you  remember  that  aifair  of  Lufton's,whenhe  came  to  you 
at  your  hotel  in  Loudon  and  was  so  angry  about  an  out- 
standing bill." 

"  I  know  that  he  was  very  unreasonable  as  far  as  I  was 
concerned." 

"  He  was  so ;  but  that  makes  no  difterence.  He  was  re- 
solved, in  his  rage,  to  expose  the  whole  affair ;  and  I  saw 
that,  if  he  did  so,  it  would  be  most  injurious  to  you,  seeing 
that  you  had  just  accepted  your  stall  at  Barchester."  Here 
the  poor  prebendary  winced  terribly.  "  I  moved  heaven 
and  earth  to  get  up  that  bill.  Those  vultures  stuck  to  their 
prey  when  they  found  the  value  which  I  attached  to  it,  and 
I  was  forced  to  raise  above  a  hundred  pounds  at  the  mo- 
ment to  obtain  possession  of  it,  although  every  shilling  ab- 
solutely due  on  it  had  long  since  been  paid.  Never  in  my 
life  did  I  wish  to  get  money,  as  I  did  to  raise  that  hundred 
and  twenty  pounds ;  and  as  I  hope  for  mercy  in  my  last 
moments,  I  did  that  for  your  sake.  Lufton  could  not  have 
injured  me  in  that  matter." 

"But  you  told  him  that  you  got  it  for  twenty-five 
pounds  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  told  him  so.  I  was  obliged  to  tell  him  that,  or 
I  should  have  apparently  condemned  myself  by  showhig 
how  anxious  I  was  to  get  it.  And  you  know  I  could  not 
liave  explained  all  this  before  him  and  you.  You  would 
Iiave  thrown  up  the  stall  in  disgust." 

Would  that  he  had!  That  was  Mark's  wish  now — his 
futile  wish.  In  what  a  slough  of  despond  had  he  come  to 
wallow  in  consequence  of  his  folly  on  that  night  at  Gath- 
erum Castle!  He  had  then  done  a  silly  thing,  and  was  he 
now  to  rue  it  by  almost  total  ruin  ?  He  was  sickened  also 
with  all  these  lies.  His  very  soul  was  dismayed  by  the  dirt 
through  which  he  was  forced  to  wade.  He  had  become 
unconsciously  connected  with  the  lowest  dregs  of  mankind, 
and  would  have  to  see  his  name  mingled  with  theirs  in  the 
daily  newspapers.  And  for  what  had  he  done  this  ?  Why 
had  he  thus  tiled  his  mind  and  made  himself  a  disgrace  to 
liis  cloth  ?  In  order  that  he  might  befriend  such  a  one  us 
Mr.  Sowerby ! 

"Well,"  continued  Sowerby,  "I  did  get  the  money,  but 
you  would  hardly  believe  the  rigor  of  the  pledge  which 
was  exacted  from  me  for  repayment.  I  got  it  from  Harold 
Smith,  and  never,  in  my  worst  straits,  will  I  again  look  to 


FRAMLEY    PARSOXAGE.  3G7 

him  for  assistance.  I  borrowed  it  only  for  a  fortnight ; 
and,  in  order  that  I  might  rejDay  it,  I  was  obliged  to  ask 
you  for  the  price  of  the  horse.  Mark,  it  w^as  on  your  be- 
half that  I  did  all  this — indeed  it  was." 

"  And  now  I  am  to  repay  you  for  your  kindness  by  the 
loss  of  all  that  I  have  in  the  world." 

"  If  you  will  put  the  aftairs  into  the  hands  of  Mr.  For- 
rest, nothing  need  be  touched — not  a  hair  of  a  horse's 
back ;  no,  not  though  you  should  be  obliged  to  pay  the 
-whole  amount  yourself  gradually  out  of  your  income.  You 
must  execute  a  series  of  bills  falling  due  quarterly,  and 
then—" 

"  I  Avill  execute  no  bill,  I  will  put  my  name  to  no  paper 
in  the  matter ;  as  to  that  my  mind  is  fully  made  up.  They 
may  come  and  do  their  worst." 

Mr.  Sowerby  j^ersevered  for  a  long  time,  but  he  was 
quite  unable  to  move  the  parson  from  his  position.  He 
w^ould  do  nothing  toward  making  what  Mr.  Sowerby  call- 
ed an  arrangement,  but  persisted  that  he  would  remain  at 
home  at  Framley,  and  that  any  one  who  had  a  claim  upon 
him  might  take  legal  steps. 

"I  shall  do  nothing  myself,"  he  said;  " but,  if  proceed- 
ings against  me  be  taken,  I  shall  prove  that  I  have  never 
had  a  shilling  of  the  money."  And  in  this  resolution  he 
quitted  the  Dragon  of  Wantley. 

Mr.  Sowerby  at  one  time  said  a  word  as  to  the  expedi- 
ency of  borrowing  that  sum  of  money  from  John  Robarts ; 
but  as  to  this  Mark  Would  say  nothing.  Mr.  Sowerby  was 
not  the  friend  with  whom  he  now  intended  to  hold  con- 
sultation on  such  matters.  "I  am  not  at  present  prepared," 
he  said,  "  to  declare  what  I  may  do ;  1  must  first  see  what 
steps  others  take ;"  and  then  he  took  his  hat  and  went 
off;  and,  mounting  his  horse  in  the  yard  of  the  Dragon  of 
Wantley — that  horse  which  he  had  now  so  many  reasons 
to  dislike,  he  slowly  rode  back  home. 

Many  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind  during  that  ride, 
but  only  one  resolution  obtained  for  itself  a  fixture  there. 
He  must  now  tell  his  wife  every  thing.  He  would  not  be 
so  cruel  as  to  let  it  remain  untold  until  a  bailiff  were  at 
the  door,  ready  to  walk  him  off  to  the  county  jail,  or  until 
the  bed  on  which  they  slept  was  to  be  sold  from  under 
them.  Yes,  he  would  tell  every  thing — immediately,  before 
his  resolution  could  again  have  faded  away.     He  got  off 


3G8  FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

his  horse  in  the  yard,  and,  seeing  his  wife's  maid  at  the 
kitclien  door,  desired  her  to  beg  her  mistress  to  come  to 
him  in  the  book-room.  He  would  not  allow  one  half  horn- 
to  pass  toward  the  waning  of  his  purpose.  If  it  be  ordain- 
ed that  a  man  shall  drown,  had  he  not  better  drown  and 
have  done  with  it? 

Mrs.  Robarts  came  to  him  in  his  room,  reaching  him  in 
time  to  touch  his  arm  as  he  entered  it. 

"  Mary  says  you  want  me.  I  have  been  gardening,  and 
she  caught  me  just  as  I  came  in." 

"  Yes,  Fanny,  I  do  want  you.  Sit  down  for  a  moment." 
And,  walking  across  the  room,  he  placed  his  whip  in  its 
proper  place. 

"  Oh,  Mark,  is  there  any  thing  the  matter  ?" 

"Yes,  dearest,  yes.  Sit  down,  Fanny ;  I  can  talk  to  you 
better  if  you  will  sit." 

But  she,  poor  lady,  did  not  wish  to  sit.  He  had  hinted 
at  some  misfortune,  and  therefore  she  felt  a  longing  to 
stand  by  him  and  cling  to  him. 

"  Well,  there ;  I  will  if  I  must ;  but,  Mark,  do  not  frighten 
me.     Why  is  your  face  so  very  wretched  ?" 

"Fanny,  I  have  done  very  wrong,"  he  said.  "I  have 
been  very  foolish.  T  fear  that  I  have  brought  upon  you 
great  sorrow  and  trouble."  And  then  he  leaned  his  head 
upon  his  hand,  and  turned  his  face  away  from  her. 

"  Oh,  Mark,  dearest  Mark,  my  own  Mark !  what  is  it  ?" 
and  then  she  was  quickly  up  from  her  chair,  and  went  down 
on  her  knees  before  him.  "Do  not  turn  from  me.  Tell 
me,  Mark !  tell  me,  that  we  may  share  it." 

"  Yes,  Fanny,  I  must  tell  you  now,  but  I  hardly  know 
what  you  will  think  of  me  when  you  have  heard  it." 

"  I  will  think  that  you  are  my  own  husband,  Mark ;  I 
Avill  think  that — that  chiefly,  whatever  it  may  be."  And 
then  she  caressed  his  knees,  and  looked  up  in  his  face,  and, 
getting  hold  of  one  of  his  hands,  pressed  it  between  her 
own.  "  Even  if  you  have  been  foolish,  who  should  forgive 
you  if  I  can  not  ?" 

And  then  he  told  it  her  all,  beginning  from  that  evening 
Avhen  Mr.  Sowerby  had  got  him  into  his  bedroom,  and  go- 
ing on  gradually,  now  about  the  bills,  and  now  about  the 
horses,  till  his  poor  wife  was  utterly  lost  in  the  complexity 
of  the  accounts.  She  could  by  no  means  follow  him  in  the 
details  of  his  story,  nor  could  she  quite  sympathize  with 


FRAMLEY    PAESONAGE.  369 

him  in  his  indiguation  against  Mr.  Sowerby,  seeing  that  she 
did  not  comprehend  at  all  the  nature  of  the  renewing  of  a 
bill.  The  only  part  to  her  of  importance  in  the  matter 
"was  the  amount  of  money  which  her  husband  would  be 
called  upon  to  pay — that  and  her  strong  hope,  which  was 
already  a  conviction,  that  he  would  never  again  incur  such 
debts. 

"And  how  much  is  it,  dearest,  altogether?" 

"These  men  claim  nine  hundred  pounds  of  me." 

"  Oh,  dear !  that  is  a  terrible  sum." 

"And  then  there  is  the  hundred  and  fifty  which  I  have 
borrow^ed  from  the  bank — the  price  of  the  horse,  you  know ; 
and  there  are  some  other  debts— not  a  great  deal,  I  think ; 
but  people  will  now  look  for  every  shilling  that  is  due  to 
them.  If  I  have  to  pay  it  all,  it  will  be  twelve  or  thirteen 
hundred  pounds." 

"That  will  be  as  much  as  a  year's  income,  Mark,  even 
with  the  stall." 

That  was  the  only  word  of  reproach  she  said,  if  that 
could  be  called  a  reproach. 

"Yes,"  he.  said;  "and  it  is  claimed  by  men  who 'will 
liave  no  pity  in  exacting  it  at  any  sacrifice,  if  they  have  the 
power.  And  to  think  that  I  should  have  incurred  all  this 
debt  without  having  received  any  thing  for  it.  Oh,  Fanny, 
what  will  you  think  of  me?" 

But  she  swore  to  him  that  she  would  think  nothing  of 
it — that  she  would  never  bear  it  in  her  mind  against  him 
— ^that  it  could  have  no  effect  in  lessening  her  trust  in  him. 
"Was  he  not  her  husband  ?  She  was  so  glad  she  knew  it, 
that  she  might  comfort  him.  And  she  did  comfort  him, 
making  the  weight  seem  lighter  and  lighter  on  his  shoul- 
ders as  he  talked  of  it.  And  such  weights  do  thus  become 
lighter.  A  burden  that  will  crush  a  single  pair  of  shoul- 
ders will,  when  equally  divided  —  when  shared  by  two, 
each  of  whom  is  willing  to  take  the  heavier  part — become 
light  as  a  feather.  Is  not  that  sharing  of  the  mind's  bur- 
dens one  of  the  chief  purposes  for  which  man  wants  a  wife  ? 
For  there  is  no  folly  so  great  as  keeping  one's  sorrows  hid- 
den. 

And  this  wife  cheerfully,  gladly,  thankfully  took  her 
share.  To  endure  with  her  lord  all  her  lord's  troubles  was 
easy  to  her ;  it  was  the  work  to  which  she  had  pledged 
herself.     But  to  have  thought  that  her  lord  had  troubles 

Q2 


370  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

not  coinmunicated  to  her — that  would  have  been  to  her 
the  one  thing  not  to  be  borne. 

And  then  they  discussed  their  plans — what  mode  of  es- 
cape they  might  have  out  of  this  terrible  money  difficulty. 
Like  a  true  woman,  Mrs.  Robarts  proposed  at  once  to  aban- 
don all  superfluities.  They  would  sell  all  their  horses; 
they  Avould  not  sell  their  cows,  but  w^ould  sell  the  butter 
that  came  from  them ;  they  would  sell  the  pony  carriage, 
and  get  rid  of  the  groom.  That  the  footman  must  go  was 
so  much  a  matter  of  course  that  it  was  hardly  mentioned. 
But  then,  as  to  that  house  at  Barchester,  the  dignified  pre- 
bendal  mansion  in  the  Close,  might  they  not  be'allowed  to 
leave  it  unoccupied  for  one  year  longer — perhaps  to  let  it? 
The  world,  of  course,  must  knoAv  of  their  misfortune ;  but 
if  that  misfortune  Avas  faced  bravely,  the  world  w^ould  be 
less  bitter  in  its  condemnation.  And  then,  above  all  things, 
every  thing  must  be  told  to  Lady  Lufton. 

"You  may,  at  any  rate,  believe  this,  Fanny,"  said  he, 
"that  for  no  consideration  which  can  be  offered  to  me  will 
I  ever  put  my  name  to  another  bill." 

The  kiss  with  which  she  thanked  him  for  this  w^as  as 
warm  and  generous  as  though  he  had  brought  to  her  that 
day  news  of  the  brightest ;  and  when  he  sat,  as  he  did  that 
evening,  discussing  it  all  not  only  with  his  wife,  but  with 
Lucy,  he  wondered  how  it  was  that  his  troubles  Avere  now 
so  light. 

Whether  or  no  a  man  should  have  his  own  private  pleas- 
ures, I  will  not  now  say,  but  it  never  can  be  worth  his 
while  to  keep  his  sorrows  private. 


CHAPTER  XXXIY. 

I.ADY   LUFTON   IS   TAKEN   BY   SURPRISE. 

Lord  Lufton,  as  he  returned  to  town,  found  some  dif- 
ficulty in  resolving  w^hat  step  he  would  next  take.  Some- 
times, for  a  minute  or  two,  he  was  half  inclined  to  think — 
or  rather  to  say  to  himself  that  Lucy  was  j^erhaps  not 
worth  the  trouble  which  she  threw  in  his  way.  He  loved 
her  very  dearly,  and  would  willingly  make  her  his  wife,  he 
thought  or  said  at  such  moments,  but —  Such  moments, 
however,  were  only  moments.  A  man  in  love  seldom 
loves  less  because  his  love  becomes  difiicult.     And  thus, 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  371 

when  those  moments  were  over,  he  would  determine  to  tell 
his  mother  at  once,  and  urge  her  to  signify  her  consent  to 
Miss  Robarts.  That  she  would  not  be  quite  pleased  lie 
knew ;  but  if  he  were  tirm  enough  to  show  that  he  had  a 
will  of  his  own  in  this  matter,  she  would  probably  not 
gainsay  him.  He  would  not  ask  this  humbly,  as  a  iavor, 
but  request  her  ladyship  to  go  through  the  ceremony  as 
though  it  were  one  of  those  motherly  duties  which  she,  as 
a  good  mother,  could  not  hesitate  to  perform  on  behalf  of 
her  son.  Such  was  the  final  resolve  with  which  he  reached 
his  chambers  in  the  Albany. 

On  the  next  day  he  did  not  see  his  mother.  It  would 
be  well,  he  thought,  to  have  his  interview  with  her  im- 
mediately before  he  started  for  Norway,  so  that  there 
might  be  no  repetition  of  it;  and  it  was  on  the  day  before 
he  did  start  that  he  made  his  communication,  having  in- 
vited himself  to  breakfast  in  Brook  Street  on  the  oc- 
casion. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  quite -abruptly,  throwing  himself  into 
one  of  the  dining-room  arm-chairs,  "  I  have  a  thing  to  tell 
you." 

His  mother  at  once  knew  that  the  thing  was  important, 
and  with  her  own  peculiar  motherly  instinct  imagined  that 
the  question  to  be  discussed  had  reference  to  matrimony. 
Had  her  son  desired  to  speak  to  her  about  money,  his  tone 
and  look  would  have  been  different,  as  would  also  have 
been  the  case — in  a  different  way — had  he  entertained  any 
thought  of  a  pilgrimage  to  Pekin,  or  a  prolonged  fishing 
excursion  to  the  Hudson  Bay  territories. 

"A  thing,  Ludovic!  w^ell,  I  am  quite  at  liberty." 

"  I  want  to  know  what  you  think  of  Lucy  Robarts  ?" 

Lady  Lufton  became  pale  and  frightened,  and  the  blood 
ran  cold  to  her  heart.  She  had  feared  more  than  rejoiced 
in  conceiving  that  her  son  was  about  to  talk  of  love,  but 
she  had  feared  nothing  so  bad  as  this.  "  What  do  I  think 
of  Lucy  Robarts  ?"  she  said,  repeating  her  son's  words  in  a 
tone  of  evident  dismay. 

"Yes,  mother;  you  have  said  once  or  twice  lately  that 
you  thought  I  ought  to  marry,  and  I  am  beginning  to 
think  so  too.  You  selected  one  clergyman's  daughter  for. 
me,  but  that  lady  is  going  to  do  much  better  with  her- 
self—" 

"  Indeed  she  is  not,"/Said  Lady  Lufton,  sharply. 


372  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

"  And  therefore  I  rather  think  I  shall  select  for  myself 
another  clergyman's  sister.  You  don't  dislike  Miss  Ro- 
barts,  I  hope  ?" 

"  Oh,  Ludovic !" 

It  Avas  all  that  Lady  Lnftpn  could  say  at  the  spur  of  the 
moment. 

"  Is  there  any  harm  in  her  ?  Have  you  any  objection  to 
her  ?  Is  there  any  thing  about  her  that  makes  her  unfit  to 
be  my  wife  ?" 

For  a  moment  or  two  Lady  Lufton  sat  silent,  collecting 
her  thoughts.  She  thought  that  there  w^as  very  great  ob- 
jection to  Lucy  liobarts,  regarding  her  as  the  possible  fu- 
ture Lady  Lufton.  She  could  hardly  haye  stated  all  her 
reasons,  but  they  Avere  very  cogent.  Lucy  Robarts  had, 
in  her  eyes,  neither  beauty,  nor  style,  nor  manner,  nor  even 
the  education  which  was  desirable.  Lady  Lufton  was  not 
herself  a  worldly  woman.  She  Avas  almost  as  far  removed 
from  being  so  as  a  woman  could  be  in  her  position.  But, 
nevertheless,  there  Avere  certain  Avorldly  attributes  Avhich 
she  regarded  as  essential  to  the  character  of  any  young 
lady  Avho  might  be  considered  fit  to  take  the  place  Avhich 
she  herself  had  so  long  filled.  It  Avas  her  desire  in  looking 
for  a  wife  for  her  son  to  combine  these  Avith  certain  moral 
excellences  Avhich  she  regarded  as  equally  essential.  Lucy 
Robarts  might  have  the  moral  excellences,  or  she  might 
not ;  but  as  to  the  other  attributes  Lady  Lufton  regarded 
her  as  altogether  deficient.  She  could  never  look  like  a 
Lady  Lufton,  or  carry  herself  in  the  county  as  a  Lady  Luf- 
ton should  do.  She  had  not  that  quiet  personal  demeanor 
— that  dignity  of  repose  Avhich  Lady  Lufton  loved  to  look 
upon  in  a  young  married  Avoman  of  rankt  Lucy,  she 
would  have  said,  could  be  nobody  in  a  room  except  by  dint 
of  her  tongue,  Avhereas  Griselda  Grantly  Avould  have  held 
her  peace  for  a  Avhole  evening,  and  yet  Avould  have  im- 
pressed every  body  by  the  majesty  of  her  presence.  Then, 
again,  Lucy  had  no  money — and,  again,  Lucy  Avas  only  the 
sister  of  her  OAvn  parish  clergyman.  People  are  rarely 
prophets  in  their  own  country,  and  Lucy  was  no  prophet 
at  Framley ;  she  Avas  none,  at  least,  in  the  eyes  of  Lady 
Lufton.  Once  before,  as  may  be  remembered,  she  had  had 
fears  on.  this  subject — fears,  not  so  much  for  her  son,Avhom 
she  could  hardly  bring  herself  to  suspect  of  such  folly,  but 
for  Lucy,  Avho  might  be  foolish  enough  to  fancy  that  the 


FUAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  373 

lord  was  in  love  with  her.  Alas !  alas !  her  son's  question 
fell  upon  the  poor  woman  at  the  present  moment  with  the 
Aveight  of  a  terrible  blow. 

"  Is  there  any  thing  about  her  which  makes  her  unfit  to 
be  my  wife  ?" 

Those  were  her  son's  last  words. 

"  Dearest  Ludovic,  dearest  Ludovic,"  and  she  got  up  and 
came  over  to  him,  *'  I  do  think  so ;  I  do,  indeed." 

"  Think  what  ?"  said  he,  in  a  tone  that  was  almost  angry. 

"  I  do  think  she  is  unlit  to  be  your  wife.  She  is  not  of 
that  class  from  which  I  would  wish  to  see  you  choose." 

"She  is  of  the  same  class  as  Griselda  Grantly." 

"No,  dearest,  I  think  you  are  in  error  there.  The 
Grantlys  have  moved  in  a  different  sphere  of  life.  I  think 
you  must  feel  that  they  are — " 

"  Upon  my  Avord,  mother,  I  don't.  One  man  is  Rector 
of  Plumstead,  and  the  other  is  Vicar  of  Framley.  But  it 
is  no  good  arguing  that.  I  w^ant  you  to  take  to  Lucy  Ro- 
barts.  I  have  come  to  you  on  purpose  to  ask  it  of  you  as 
a  favor." 

"  Do  you  mean  as  your  wife,  Ludovic  ?" 

"  Yes,  as  my  wife." 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  are — are  engaged  to  her?" 

"  Well,  I  can  not  say  that  I  am — not  actually  engaged  to 
her.  But  you  may  take  this  for  granted,  that,  as  far  as  it 
lies  in  my  power,  I  intend  to  become  so.  My  mind  is 
made  up,  and  I  certainly  shall  not  alter  it." 

"  And  the  young  lady  knows  all  this  ?" 

"  Certainly." 

"Horrid,  sly,  detestable,  underhand  girl,"  Lady  Lufton 
said  to  herself,  not  being  by  any  means  brave  enough  to 
speak  out  such  language  before  her  son.  What  hope  could 
there  be  if  Lord  Lufton  had  already  committed  himself  by 
a  positive  offer?  "And  her  brother,  and  Mrs.Robarts — 
are  thev  aware  of  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  both  of  them." 

"  And  both  approve  of  it  ?" 

"  AVell,  I  can  not  say  that.  I  have  not  seen  Mrs.  Ro- 
barts,  and  do  not  know  what  may  be  her  opinion.  To 
speak  mv  mind  honestly  about  Mark,  I  do  not  think  lie 
does  cordially  approve.  He  is  afraid  of  you,  and  would  be 
desirous  of  knowing  what  you  think." 

"  I  am  glad,  at  any  rate,  to  hear  that,"  said  Lady  Lufton, 


374  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

gravel}'.  "  Had  he  doue  any  thing  to  encourage  this,  it 
would  liave  been  very  base."  And  then  there  was  another 
short  period  of  silence. 

Lord  Liifton  had  determined  not  to  explain  to  his  moth- 
er the  whole  state  of  the  case.  He  would  not  tell  her  that 
every  thing  depended  on  her  word — that  Lucy  was  ready 
to  marry  him  only  on  condition  that  she,  Lady  Liifton, 
would  desire  her  to  do  so.  He  w^ould  not  let  her  knoAv 
that  every  thing  depended  on  her,  according  to  Lucy's 
present  verdict.  He  had  a  strong  disinclination  to  ask  his 
mother's  permission  to  get  married,  and  he  would  have  to 
ask  it  were  he  to  tell  her  the  whole  truth.  His  object  was 
to  make  her  think  well  of  Lucy,  and  to  induce  her  to  be 
kind,  and  generous,  and  affectionate  down  at  Framley. 
Then  things  would  all  turn  out  comfortably  when  he  again 
visited  that  place,  as  he  intended  to  do  on  his  return  from 
I^orway.  So  much  ho  thought  it  possible  he  might  effect, 
relying  on  his  mother's  probable  calculation  that  it  would 
be  useless  for  her  to  oj^pose  a  measure  which  she  had  no 
power  of  stopping  by  authority.  But  were  he  to  tell  her 
that  she  was  to  be  the  final  judge,  that  every  thing  Avas  to 
depend  on  her  will,  then,  so  thought  Lord  Lufton,  that 
permission  would  in  all  probability  be  refused. 

"  Well,  mother,  what  answer  do  you  intend  to  give  me?" 
he  said.  "My  mind  is  positively  made  up.  I  should  not 
have  come  to  you  had  not  that  been  the  case.  You  will 
now  be  going  down  home,  and  I  would  wish  you  to  treat 
Lucy  as  you  yourself  would  wish  to  treat  any  girl  to  whom 
you  knew  that  I  was  engaged." 

"  But  you  say  that  you  are  not  engaged." 

"  No,  I  am  not ;  but  I  have  made  my  offer  to  her,  and 
I  have  not  been  rejected.  She  has  confessed  that  she — 
loves  me,  not  to  myself,  but  to  her  brother.  Under  these 
circumstances,  may  I  count  upon  your  obliging  me?" 

There  was  something  in  his  manner  which  almost  fright- 
ened his  mother,  and  made  her  think  that  there  Avas  more 
behind  than  was  told  to  her.  Generally  speaking,  his  man- 
ner was  open,  gentle,  and  unguarded;  but  now  he  spoke 
as  though  he  had  prepared  his  words,  and  was  resolved  on 
being  harsh  as  well  as  obstinate. 

"  I  am  so  much  taken  by  surprise,  Ludovic,  that  I  can 
hardly  give  you  an  answer.  If  you  ask  me  whether  I  ap- 
prove of  such  a  marriage,  I  must  say  that  I  do  not ;  I  think 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  Si 5 

that  you  would  bo  throwing  yourself  away  in  marrying 
Miss  Robarts." 

"  That  is  because  you  do  not  know  her." 

"  May  it  not  be  possible  that  I  know  her  better  than  you 
do,  dear  Ludovic  ?     You  have  been  flirting  Avith  her — " 

"  I  hate  that  word ;  it  always  sounds  to  me  to  be 
vulgar." 

"I  will  say  making  love  to  her,  if  you  like  it  better ; 
and  gentlemen  under  these  circumstances  will  sometimes 
become  infatuated." 

"  You  would  not  have  a  man  marry  a  girl  without  mak- 
ing love  to  her.  The  fact  is,  mother,  that  your  tastes  and 
mine  arc  not  exactly  the  same;  you  like  silent  beauty, 
whereas  I  like  talking  beauty,  and  then — " 

"  Do  you  call  Miss  Robarts  beautiful  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  do,  very  beautiful ;  she  has  the  beauty  that  I 
admire.  Good-by  now,  mother;  I  shall  not  see  you  again 
before  I  start.  It  will  be  no  use  writing,  as  I  shall  be 
away  so  short  a  time,  and  I  don't  quite  know  where  wo 
shall  be.  I  shall  come  down  to  Framley  immediately  I 
return,  and  shall  learn  from  you  how  the  land  lies.  I  have 
told  you  my  wishes,  and  you  will  consider  how  far  you 
think  it  right  to  fall  in  with  them."  He  then  kissed  her, 
and,  without  waiting  for  her  reply,  he  took  his  leave. 

Poor  Lady  Lufton,  when  she  was  left  to  herself,  felt  that 
her  head  was  going  round  and  round.  Was  this  to  be  the 
end  of  all  her  ambition — of  all  her  love  for  her  son  ?  and 
was  this  to  be  the  result  of  all  her  kindness  to  the  Ro- 
barts's?  She  almost  hated  Mark  Robarts  as  she  reflected 
that  she  had  been  the  means  of  bringing  him  and  his  sister 
to  Framley.  She  thought  over  all  his  sins,  his  absences 
from  the  parish,  his  visit  to  Gatherum  Castle,  his  dealings 
with  reference  to  that  farm  which  was  to  have  been  sold,  his 
hunting,  and  then  his  acceptance  of  that  stall,  given,  as  she 
had  been  told,  through  the  Omnium  interest.  How  could 
she  love  him  at  such  a  moment  as  this?  And  then  she 
thought  of  his  wife.  Could  it  be  possible  that  Fanny  Ro- 
barts, her  own  friend  Fanny,  would  be  so  untrue  to  her  as 
to  lend  any  assistance  to  such  a  marriage  as  this — as  not 
to  use  all  her  power  in  preventing  it?  She  had  spoken  to 
Fanny  on  this  very  subject,  not  fearing  for  her  son,  but 
with  a  general  idea  of  the  impropriety  of  intimacies  be- 
tween such  girls  as  Lucy  and  such  men  as  Lord  Lufton, 


P,1G  FKAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

and  then  Fanny  had  agreed  with  lier.  Could  it  be  i)ossi- 
ble  that  even  she  must  be  regarded  as  an  enemy  ? 

And  then,  by  degrees,  Lady  Lufton  began  to  reflect  what 
steps  she  had  better  take.  In  the  first  place,  should  she 
give  in  at  once,  and  consent  to  the  marriage  ?  The  only 
thing  quite  certain  to  her  was  this,  that  life  would  not  be 
Avorth  having  if  she  were  forced  into  a  permanent  quarrel 
Avith  her  son.  Such  an  event  would  probably  kill  her. 
When  she  read  of  quarrels  in  other  noble  families — and  the 
accounts  of  such  quarrels  will  sometimes,  unfortunately, 
force  themselves  upon  the  attention  of  unwilling  readers — 
she  would  hug  herself  with  a  spirit  that  was  almost  phari- 
saical,  'reflecting  that  her  destiny  was  not  like  that  of  oth- 
ers. Such  quarrels  and  hatreds  between  fathers  and  daugh- 
ters, and  mothers  and  sons,  were  in  her  eyes  disreputable 
to  all  the  persons  concerned.  She  had  lived  happily  with 
her  husband,  comfortably  with  her  neighbors,  respectably 
Avith  the  world,  and,  above  all  things,  affectionately  with 
her  children.  She  spoke  every  where  of  Lord  Lufton  as 
though  he  Avere  nearly  perfect,  and  in  so  speaking  she  had 
not  belied  her  convictions.  Under  these  circumstances, 
Avould  not  any  marriage  be  better  than  a  quarrel? 

But  then,  again,  how  much  of  the  pride  of  her  daily  life 
Avould  be  destroyed  by  such  a  match  as  that !  And  might 
it  not  be  within  her  power  to  prevent  it  Avithout  any  quar- 
rel? That  her  son  Avould  be  sick  of  such  a  chit  as  Lucy 
before  he  had  been  married  to  her  six  months — of  that 
Lady  Lufton  entertained  no  doubt,  and  therefore  her  con- 
science t\"ould  not  be  disquieted  in  disturbing  the  consum- 
mation of  an  arrangement  so  pernicious.  It  Avas  evident 
that  the  matter  Avas  not  considered  as  settled  even,  by  her 
son,  and  also  evident  that  he  regarded  the  matter  as  being 
in  some  Avay  dependent  on  his  mother's  consent.  On  the 
whole,  might  it  not  be  better  for  her — better  for  them  all, 
that  she  should  think  wholly  of  her  duty,  and  not  of  the 
disagreeable  results  to  Avhich  that  duty  might  possibly 
lead  ?  It  could  not  be  her  duty  to  accede  to  such  an  alli- 
ance, and  therefore  she  Avould  do  her  best  to  prevent  it. 
Such,  at  least,  should  be  her  attempt  in  the  first  instance. 

Having  so  decided,  she  next  resolved  on  her  course  of 
action.  Immediately  on  her  arrival  at  Framley,  she  Avould 
send  for  Lucy  Robarts,  and  use  all  her  eloquence — and 
perhaps  also  a  little  of  that  stern  dignity  for  Avhich  she 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  oil 

was  SO  remarkable — in  explaining  to  that  young  lady  how 
very  wicked  it  was  on  her  part  to  think  of  forcing  herself 
into  such  a  family  as  that  of  the  Luftons.  She  would  ex- 
plain to  Lucy  that  no  happiness  could  come  of  it ;  that 
people  placed  by  misfortune  above  their  sphere  are  always 
miserable ;  and,  in  short,  make  use  of  all  those  excellent 
moral  lessons  which  are  so  customary  on  such  occasions. 
The  morality  might,  perhaps,  be  thrown  away;  but  Lady 
Lufton  depended  much  on  her  dignified  sternness.  And 
then,  having  so  resolved,  she  prepared  for  her  journey 
home. 

Very  little  had  been  said  at  Framley  Parsonage  about 
Lord  Lufton's  offer  after  the  departure  of  that  gentleman 
— very  little,  at  least,  in  Lucy's  presence.  That  the  parson 
and  his  wife  should  talk  about  it  between  themselves  Avas 
a  matter  of  course ;  but  very  few  words  were  spoken  on 
the  matter  either  by  or  to  Lucy.  She  was  left  to  her  own 
thoughts,  and  possibly  to  her  own  hopes. 

And  then  other  matters  came  up  at  Framley  which  turn- 
ed the  current  of  interest  into  other  tracks.  In  the  first 
place,  there  was  the  visit  made  by  Mr.  Sowerby  to  the 
Dragon  of  AVantley,  and  the  consequent  revelation  made 
by  Mark  Robarts  to  his  Avife.  And  Avhile  that  latter  sub- 
ject Avas  yet  new,  before  Fanny  and  Lucy  had  as  yet  made 
up  their  minds  as  to  all  the  little  economies  which  might 
be  practiced  in  the  household  Avithout  serious  detriment  to 
the  master's  comfort,  ncAvs  reached  them  that  Mrs.  Craw- 
ley of  Hogglestock  had  been  stricken  Avith  fever.  Nothing 
of  the  kind  could  Avell  be  more  dreadful  than  this.  To 
those  Avho  knew  the  family,  it  seemed  impossible  that  their 
most  ordinary  Avants  could  be  supplied  if  that  courageous 
head  Avere  even  for  a  day  laid  Ioav  ;  and  then  the  poverty 
of  poor  Mr.  CraAvley  Avas  such  that  the  sad  necessities  of  a 
sick-bed  could  hardly  be  supplied  Avithout  assistance. 

"  I  Avill  go  over  at  once,"  said  Fanny. 

"My  dear!"  said  her  husband.  "It  is  typhus,  and  you 
must  first  think  of  the  children.     I  Avill  go." 

"  What  on  earth  could  you  do,  Mark  ?"  said  his  Avife. 
"Men  on  such  occasions  are  almost  Avorse  than  useless; 
and  then  they  are  so  much  more  liable  to  infection." 

"  I  have  no  childyen,  nor  am  I  a  man,"  said  Lucy,  smiling, 
"  for  both  of  Avhich  exemptions  I  am  thankful.  I  Avill  go, 
and  when  T  come  back  I  Avill  keep  clear  of  the  bairns." 


'SI 8  PRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

So  it  was  settled,  and  Lucy  started  in  the  pony-carriage, 
carrying  Avitli  her  such  things  from  the  Parsonage  store- 
house as  were  thought  to  be  suitable  to  the  wants  of  the 
sick  lady  at  Hogglestock.  When  she  arrived  there  she 
made  her  way  into  the  house,  finding  the  door  open,  and 
not  being  able  to  obtain  the  assistance  of  the  servant-girl 
in  ushering  her  in.  In  the  parlor  she  found  Grace  Craw- 
ley, the  eldest  child,  sitting  demurely  in  her  mother's  chair 
nursing  an  infant.  She,  Grace  herself,  was  still  a  young 
child,  but  not  the  less,  on  this  occasion  of  well-understood 
sorrow,  did  she  go  through  her  task  not  only  wdth  zeal, 
but  almost  with  solemnity.  Her  brother,  a  boy  of  six 
years  old,  was  with  her,  and  he  had  the  care  of  another 
baby.  There  they  sat  in  a  cluster,  quiet,  grave,  and  silent, 
attending  on  themselves,  because  it  had  been  willed  by  fate 
that  no  one  else  should  attend  on  them. 

"  How  is  your  mamma,  dear  Grace  ?"  said  Lucy,  walk- 
ing up  to  her  and  holding  out  her  hand. 

"  Poor  mamma  is  very  ill  indeed,"  said  Grace. 

*'  And  papa  is  very  unhapj^y,"  said  Bobby,  the  boy. 

"  I  can't  get  up  because  of  baby,"  said  Grace ;  "  but 
Bobby  can  go  and  call  papa  out." 

"I  will  knock  at  the  door,"  said  Lucy;  and,  so  saying, 
she  walked  up  to  the  bedroom  door,  and  tapped  against  it 
lightly.  She  repeated  this  for  the  third  time  before  she 
was  summoned  in  by  a  low  hoarse  voice,  and  then,  on  en- 
tering, she  saw  Mr,  Crawley  standing  by  the  bedside  with 
a  book  in  his  hand.  He  looked  at  her  im comfortably,  in  a 
manner  Avhich  seemed  to  show  that  he  was  annoyed  by 
this  intrusion,  and  Lucy  was  aware  that  she  had  disturbed 
him  while  at  prayers  by  the  bedside  of  his  wife.  He  came 
across  the  room,  however,  and  shook  hands  with  her,  and 
answered  her  inquiries  in  his  ordinary  grave  and  solemn 
voice. 

"  Mrs.  Crawley  is  very  ill,"  he  said,  "  very  ill.  God  has 
stricken  us  heavily,  but  His  will  be  done.  But  you  had 
better  not  go  to  her.  Miss  Robarts.     It  is  typhus." 

The  caution,  however,  was  too  late,  for  Lucy  was  already 
by  the  bedside,  and  had  taken  the  hand  of  the  sick  woman, 
which  had  been  extended  on  the  coverlet  to  greet  her. 
"Dear  Miss  Robarts,"  said  a  weak  voice,  "this  is  very 
good  of  you,  but  it  makes  me  unhappy  to  see  you  here." 

Lucy  lost  no  time  in  taking  sundry  matters  into  her  own 


FRAMLEY   PAESOXAGE.  .170 

hands,  and  ascertaining  what  was  most  wanted  in  that 
wretched  household.  For  it  was  wretched  enough.  Their 
only  servant,  a  girl  of  sixteen,  had  been  taken  away  by  her 
mother  as  soon  as  it  became  known  that  Mrs.  Crawley  Avas 
ill  with  fever.  The  poor  mother,  to  give  her  her  due,  had 
promised  to  come  down  morning  and  evening  herself,  to 
do  such  work  as  might  be  done  in  an  hour  or  so ;  but  she 
could  not,  she  said,  leave  her  child  to  catch  the  fever.  And 
now,  at  the  period  of  Lucy's  visit,  no  step  had  been  taken 
to  procure  a  nurse,  Mr.  Crawley  having  resolved  to  take 
upon  himself  the  duties  of  that  position.  In  his  absolute 
ignorance  of  all  sanatory  measures,  he  had  thrown  himself 
on  his  knees  to  pray ;  and  if  prayers — true  prayers — might 
succor  his  poor  wife,  of  such  succor  she  might  be  confident. 
Lucy,  however,  thought  that  other  aid  also  was  wanting  to 
her. 

"If  you  can  do  any  thing  for  us,"  said  Mrs. Crawley, 
"  let  it  be  for  the  poor  children." 

"  I  will  have  them  all  moved  from  this  till  you  are  bet- 
ter," said  Lucy,  boldly. 

"Moved!"  said  Mr.  Crawley,  who  even  now,  even  in  his 
present  strait,  felt  a  repugnance  to  the  idea  that  any  one 
should  relieve  him  of  any  portion  of  his  burden. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lucy ;  "  I  am  sure  it  will  be  better  that  you 
should  lose  them  for  a  week  or  two,  till  Mrs.  Crawley  may 
be  able  to  leave  her  room." 

"  But  where  are  they  to  go  ?"  said  he,  very  gloomily. 

As  to  this  Lucy  was  not  as  yet  able  to  say  any  thing. 
Indeed,  when  she  left  Framley  Parsonage  there  had  been 
no  time  for  discussion.  She  would  go  back  and  talk  it  all 
over  with  Fanny,  and  find  out  in  what  way  the  children 
might  be  best  put  out  of  danger.  Why  should  they  not 
all  be  harbored  at  the  Parsonage  as  soon  as  assurance  could 
be  felt  that  they  were  not  tainted  with  the  poison  of  the 
fever  ?  An  English  lady  of  the  right  sort  will  do  all  things 
but  one  fw  a  sick  neighbor,  but  for  no  neighbor  will  she 
wittingly  admit  contagious  sickness  within  the  j)recincts 
of  her  own  nursery. 

Lucy  unloaded  lier  jellies  and  her  febrifuges,  Mr.  Craw- 
ley frowning  at  her  bitterly  the  while.  It  had  come  to  this 
with  him,  that  food  had  been  brought  into  his  house,  as  an 
act  of  charity,  in  his  very  presence,  and  in  his  heart  of  hearts 
he  disliked  Lucy  Robarts  in  that  she  had  brought  it.     He 


nSO  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

could  not  cause  the  jars  and  the  pots  to  be  replaced  in  the 
pony-carriage,  as  he  would  have  done  had  the  position  of 
his  wife  been  different.  In  her  state  it  would  have  been 
barbarous  to  refuse  them,  and  barbarous  also  to  have  cre- 
ated the  fracas  of  a  refusal ;  but  each  parcel  that  was  in- 
troduced was  an  additional  weight  laid  on  the  sore  withers 
of  his  pride,  till  the  total  burd-en  became  almost  intolera- 
ble. All  this  his  wife  saw  and  recognized  even  in  her  ill- 
ness, and  did  make  some  slight  ineffectual  efforts  to  give 
him  ease ;  but  Lucy  in  her  new  power  was  ruthless,  and 
the  chicken  to  make  the  chicken-broth  was  taken  out  of 
the  basket  under  his  very  nose. 

But  Lucy  did  not  remain  long.  She  had  made  up  her 
mind  what  it  behooved  her  to  do  herself,  and  she  was  soon 
ready  to  return  to  Framley.  "  I  shall  be  back  again,  Mr. 
Crawley,"  she  said,  "  probably  this  evening,  and  I  shall  stay 
with  her  till  she  is  better."  "  Nurses  don't  want  rooms," 
she  went  on  to  say,  when  Mr.  Ci-avvley  muttered  something 
as  to  there  being  no  bedchamber.  "  I  shall  make  up  some 
sort  of  a  litter  near  her ;  you'll  see  that  I  shall  be  very 
snug."  And  then  she  got  into  the  pony-chaise  and  drove 
herself  home. 


CHAPTER  XXXY. 

THE  STORY  OF  KING  COPHETUA. 

Lucy,  as  she  drove  lierself  home,  had  much  as  to  which 
it  was  necessary  that  she  should  arouse  her  thoughts.  That 
she  would  go  back  and  nurse  Mrs.  Crawley  through  her 
fever  she  was  resolved.  She  Avas  free  agent  enough  to 
take  so  much  on  herself,  and  to  feel  sure  that  she  could 
carry  it  through.  But  how  was  she  to  redeem  her  prom- 
ise about  the  children?  Twenty  plans  ran  through  her 
mind  as  to  the  farm-houses  in  which  they  might  be  placed, 
or  cottages  which  might  be  hired  for  them ;  b»t  all  these 
entailed  the  want  of  money ;  and  at  the  present  moment, 
w^ere  not  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  Parsonage  pledged  to  a 
dire  economy  ?  This  use  of  the  pony-carriage  would  have 
been  illicit  under  any  circumstances  less  ])ressing  than  the 
present,  for  it  had  been  decided  that  the  carriage,  and 
even  poor  Puck  himself,  should  be  sold.  She  had,  hoAv- 
ever,  given  her  promise  about  the  children,  and,  though 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  381 

licr  own  Stock  of  money  was  very  low,  that  promise  should 
be  redeemed. 

When  she  reached  the  Parsonage  she  was  of  course  full 
of  her  schemes,  but  she  found  that  another  subject  of  in- 
terest had  come  up  in  her  absence,  which  prevented  her 
from  obtaining  the  undivided  attention  of  her  sister-in-law 
to  her  present  plans.  Lady  Lufton  had  returned  that  day, 
and  immediately  on  lier  return  had  sent  up  a  note  address- 
ed to  Miss  Lucy  Robarts,  which  note  was  in  Fanny's  hands 
Avhen  Lucy  stepped  out  of  the  pony-carriage.  The  servant 
who  brought  it  had  asked  for  an  answer,  and  a  A^erbal  an- 
swer had  been  sent,  saying  that  Miss  Robarts  was  away 
from  home,  and  would  herself  send  a  reply  when  she  re- 
turned. It  can  not  be  denied  that  the  color  came  to  Lucy's 
face,  and  that  her  hand  trembled  when  she  took  the  note 
from  Fanny  in  the  drawing-room.  Every  thing  in  the 
world  to  her  might  depend  on  what  that  note  contained, 
and  yet  she  did  not  open  it  at  once,  but  stood  with  it  in 
lier  hand,  and,  when  Fanny  pressed  her  on  the  subject,  still 
endeavored  to  bring  back  the  conversation  to  the  subject 
of  Mrs.  Crawley. 

But  yet  her  mind  was  intent  on  the  letter,  and  she  had 
already  augured  ill  from  the  handwriting  and  even  from 
the  words  of  the  address.  Had  Lady  Lufton  intended  to 
be  propitious,  she  would  have  directed  her  letter  to  Miss 
Robarts,  without  the  Christian  name ;  so  at  least  argued 
Lucy — quite  unconsciously,  as  one  does  argue  in  such  mat- 
ters. One  forms  half  the  conclusions  of  one's  life  without 
any  distinct  knowledge  that  the  premises  have  even  passed 
through  one's  mind. 

They  were  now  alone  together,  as  Mark  was  out. 

"  Won't  you  open  her  letter  ?"  said  Mrs.  Robarts. 

"Yes,  immediately;  but,  Fanny,  I  must  speak  to  you 
about  Mrs.  Crawley  first.  I  must  go  back  there  this  even- 
ing, and  stay  there ;  I  have  promised  to  do  so,  and  shall 
certainly  keep  my  promise.  I  have  promised  also  that  the 
children  shall  be  taken  away,  and  we  must  arrange  about 
that.  It  is  dreadful,  the  state  she  is  in.  There  is  no  one 
to  see  to  her  but  Mr.  Crawley,  and  the  children  are  alto- 
gether left  to  themselves." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  are  going  back  to  stay  ?" 

"  Yes,  certainly ;  I  have  made  a  distinct  promise  that  I 
would  do  so.     And  about  the  children — could  not  you 


382  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

manage  foj*  the  children,  Fanny — not,  perhaps,  in  the  house 
— at  least  not  at  first,  perhaps  ?"  And  yet,  during  all  the 
time  that  she  was  thus  speaking  and  pleading  for  the 
Crawleys,  she  was  endeavoring  to  imagine  what  might  be 
the  contents  of  that  letter  which  she  held  between  her 
fingers. 

"And  is  she  so  very  ill?"  asked  Mrs. Robarts. 

"  I  can  not  say  how  ill  she  may  be,  except  this,  that  she 
certainly  has  typhus  fever.  They  have  had  some  doctor, 
or  doctor's  assistant  from  Silverbridge,  but  it  seems  to  me 
that  they  are  greatly  in  Avant  of  better  advice." 

"  But,  Lucy, will  you  not  read  your  letter?  It  is  aston- 
isliing  to  me  that  you  should  be  so  indifferent  about  it." 

Lucy  was  any  thing  but  indifferent,  and  now  did  proceed 
to  tear  the  envelope.  The  note  was  very  short,  and  ran  in 
these  words: 

"My  dear  Miss  Robarts, — I  am  particularly  anxious  to  see  you, 
nud  shall  feel  much  obliged  to  you  if  you  can  step  over  to  me  here,  at 
Framley  Court.  I  must  apologize  for  taking  this  liberty  -with  you,  but 
you  will  probably  feel  that  an  interview  here  would  suit  us  both  better 
than  one  at  the  Parsonage.     Truly  yours,.  M.  Lufton." 

"  There ;  I  am  in  for  it  now,"  said  Lucy,  handing  the 
liote  over  to  Mrs.  Robarts.  *'  I  shall  have  to  be  talked  to 
as  never  poor  girl  was  talked  to  before;  and  when  one 
thinks  of  what  I  have  done,  it  is  hard." 

"  Yes,  and  of  what  you  have  not  done." 

"  Exactly ;  and  of  what  I  have  not  done.  But  I  suppose 
I  must  go,"  and  she  proceeded  to  re-tie  the  strings  of  her 
bonnet,  which  she  had  loosened. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  are  going  over  at  once  ?" 

"  Yes,  immediately.  Why  not  ?  it  Avill  be  better  to  have 
it  over,  and  then  I  can  go  to  the  Crawleys.  But,  Fanny, 
the  pity  of  it  is  that  I  know  it  all  as  well  as  though  it  had 
been  already  spoken ;  and  what  good  can  there  be  in  my 
having  to  endure  it  ?  Can't  you  fancy  the  tone  in  which 
she  will  explain  to  me  the  conventional  inconveniences 
which  arose  when  King  Cophetua  w^ould  marry  the  beg- 
gar's daughter  ?  hoAV  she  will  explain  what  Griselda  went 
through — not  the  archdeacon's  daughter,  but  the  other 
Griselda?" 

"  But  it  all  came  right  with  her." 

"  Yes  ;  but  then  I  am  not  Griselda,  and  she  will  explain 
how  it  would  certainly  all  go  wrong  with  me.     But  what's 


FKAMLEY    PAKSOXAGE.  383 

the  good  when  I  know  it  all  beforehand  ?  Have  I  not  de- 
sh-ed  King  Cophetua  to  take  himself  and  sceptre  else- 
where?" 

And  then  she  started,  having  first  said  another  word  or 
two  about  the  Crawley  children,  and  obtained  a  promise 
of  Puck  and  the  pony-carriage  for  the  afternoon.  It  was 
also  almost  agreed  that  Puck,  on  his  return  to  Framley, 
should  bring  back  the  four  children  Avith  him ;  but  on  this 
subject  it  was  necessary  that  Mark  should  be  consulted. 
The  present  scheme  was  to  prepare  for  them  a  room  out- 
side the  house,  once  the  dairy,  at  present  occupied  by  the 
groom  and  his  wife,  and  to  bring  them  into  the  house  as 
soon  as  it  was  manifest  that  there  ^vas  no  danger  from  in- 
fection.    But  all  this  was  to  be  matter  for  deliberation. 

Fanny  wanted  her  to  send  over  a  note,  in  re})ly  to  Lady 
Lufton's,  as  harbinger  of  her  coming ;  but  Lucy  marched 
off,  hardly  answering  this  proposition. 

"What's  the  use  of  such  a  deal  of  ceremony?"  she  said. 
"I  know  she's  at  home ;  and  if  she  is  not,  I  shall  only  lose 
ten  minutes  in  going."  And  so  she  w^ent,  and  on  reaching 
the  door  of  Framley  Court  house  found  that  her  ladyship 
was  at  home.  Her  heart  almost  came  to  her  mouth  as  sho 
was  told  so,  and  then,  in  two  minutes'  time,  she  found  her- 
self in  the  little  room  up  stairs.  In  that  little  room  we 
found  ourselves  once  before — you  and  I,  O  my  reader — 
but  Lucy  had  never  before  visited  that  hallowed  precinct. 
There  was  something  in  its  air  calculated  to  inspire  awe  in 
those  who  first  saw  Lady  Lufton  sitting  bolt  upright  in  the 
cane-bottomed  arm-chair,  which  she  always  occupied  when 
at  work  at  her  books  and  papers,  and  this  she  knew 'when 
she  determined  to  receive  Lucy  in  that  apartment.  But 
there  was  there  another  arm-chair — an  easy,  cozy  chair, 
which  stood  by  the  fireside ;  and  for  those  who  had  caught 
Lady  Lufton  napping  in  that  chair  of  an  afternoon,  some 
of  this  awe  had  perhaps  been  dissipated. 

"  Miss  Robarts,"  she  said,  not  rising  from  her  chair,  but 
holding  out  her  hand  to  her  visitor,  "  I  am  much  obliged 
to  you  for  having  come  over  to  me  here.  You  no  doubt 
are  aware  of  the  subject  on  w^hich  I  w^ish  to  speak  to  you, 
and  will  agree  with  me  that  it  is  better  that  we  should 
meet  here  than  over  at  the  Parsonage." 

In  answer  to  which  Lucy  merely  bowed  her  head,  and 
took  her  seat  on  the  chair  which  had  been  prepared  for  her. 


384  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

''  My  soil,"  continued  her  ladyship,  "  has  spoken  to  me 
on  the  subject  of — I  think  I  understand,  Miss  liobarts, 
that  there  lias  been  no  engagement  between  you  and  him  ?" 

"None  whatever,"  said  Lucy.  "He  made  me  an  offer 
and  I  refused  him."  This  she  said  very  sharply — more  so, 
undoubtedly,  than  the  circumstances  required,  and  with  a 
brusqueness  that  was  injudicious  as  well  as  uncourteous. 
But  at  the  moment  she  was  thinking  of  her  own  position 
with  reference  to  Lady  Lufton— not  to  Lord  Lufton,  and 
of  her  feelings  with  reference  to  the  lady — not  to  the  gen- 
tleman. 

"  Oh,"  said  Lady  Lufton,  a  little  startled  by  the  manner 
of  the  communication.  "  Then  I  am  to  understand  that 
there  is  nothing  now  going  on  between  you  and  my  son— 
that  the  whole  aftair  is  over?" 

"That  depends  entirely  upon  you." 

"On  nie!  does  it?" 

"I  do  not  know  what  your  son  may  have  told  you. 
Lady  Lufton.  For  myself,  I  do  not  care  to  have  any  se- 
crets from  you  in  this  matter ;  and  as  he  has  spoken  to  you 
about  it,  I  suppose  that  such  is  his  wish  also.  Am  I  right 
in  presuming  that  he  has  spoken  to  you  on  the  subject?" 

"  Yes,  he  has ;  and  it  is  for  that  reason  that  I  have  taken 
the  liberty  of  sending  for  you." 

"And  may  I  ask  Avhat  he  has  told  you?  I  mean,  of 
course,  as  regards  myself,"  said  Lucy. 

Lady  Lufton,  before  she  answered  this  question,  began 
to  reflect  that  the  young  lady  was  taking  too  much  of  the 
initiative  in  this  conversation,  and  was,  in  fact,  playing  the 
game  in  her  own  fashion,  which  was  not  at  all  in  accord- 
ance with  those  motives  which  had  induced  Lady  Lufton 
to  send  for  her. 

"  He  has  told  me  that  he  made  you  an  offer  of  marriage," 
replied  Lady  Lufton ;  "  a  matter  which,  of  course,  is  very 
serious  to  me,  as  his  mother ;  and  I  have  thought,  there- 
fore, that  I  had  better  see  you,  and  appeal  to  your  own 
good  sense  and  judgment,  and  high  feeling.  Of  course 
you  are  aware — " 

Now  was  coming  the  lecture  to  be  illustrated  by  King 
Cophetua  and  Griselda,  as  Lucy  had  suggested  to  Mrs. 
Robarts ;  but  she  succeeded  in  stopping  it  for  a  while. 

"  And  did  Lord  Lufton  tell  you  what  was  my  answer  ?" 

"Not  in  words.     But  you  yourself  now  say  that  you^ 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  385 

refused  liim,  and  I  must  express  my  admiration  for  your 
good — " 

"Wait  half  a  mgrnent,  Lady  Lufton.  Your  son  did 
make  me  an  ofter.  He  made  it  to  me  in  person,  ujy  at  the 
Parsonage,  and  I  then  refused  him — foolishly,  as  I  now  be- 
lieve, for  I  dearly  love  him.  But  I  did  so  from  a  mixture 
of  feelings  which  I  need  not,  perhaps,  explain ;  that  most 
prominent,  no  doubt,  was  a  fear  of  your  displeasure.  And 
then  he  came  again,  not  to  me,  but  to  my  brother,  and 
urged  his  suit  to  him.  Nothing  can  have  been  kinder  to 
me,  more  noble,  more  loving,  more  generous,  than  his  con- 
duct. At  first  I  thought,  when  he  was  speaking  to  my- 
self, that  he  was  led  on  thoughtlessly  to  say  all  that  he  did 
say.  I  did  not  trust  his  love,  though  I  saw  that  he  did 
trust  it  himself.  But  I  could  not  but  trust  it  when  he 
came  again — to  my  brother,  and  made  his  proposal  to  him. 
I  don't  know  whether  you  will  understand  me.  Lady  Luf- 
ton ;  but  a  girl  placed  as  I  am  feels  ten  times  more  assur- 
ance in  such  a  tender  of  affection  as  that,  than  in  one  made 
to  herself,  at  the  spur  of  the  moment,  perhaps.  And  then 
you  must  remember  that  I — I  myself — I  loved  him  from 
the  first.  I  was  foolish  enough  to  think  that  I  could  know 
him  and  not  love  him." 

"  I  saw  all  that  going  on,"  said  Lady  Lufton,  with  a  cer- 
tain assumption  of  wisdom  about  her,  "and  took  steps 
which  I  ho])ed  would  have  put  a  stop  to  it  in  time." 

"  Every  body  saw  it.  It  was  a  matter  of  course,"  said 
Lucy,  destroying  her  ladyship's  wisdom  at  a  blow.  "  "Well, 
I  did  learn  to  love  him,  not  meaning  to  do  so ;  and  I  do 
love  him  with  all  my  heart.  It  is  no  use  my  striving  to 
think  that  I  do  not;  and  I  could  stand  with  him  at  the 
altar  to-morrow  and  give  him  my  hand,  feeling  that  I  was 
doing  my  duty  by  him,  as  a  woman  should  do.  And  now 
he  has  told  you  of  his  love,  and  I  believe  in  that  as  I  do  in 
my  own—"     And  then  for  a  moment  she  paused. 

"  But,  my  dear  Miss  Robarts — "  began  Lady  Lufton. 

Lucy,  however,  had  now  worked  herself  up  into  a  con- 
dition of  power,  and  would  not  allow  her  ladyship  to  inter- 
rupt her  in  her  speech. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Lady  Lufton ;  I  shall  have  done  di- 
rectly, and  then  I  will  hear  you.  And  so  my  brother  came 
to  me,  not  urging  this  suit,  expressing  no  wish  for  such  a 
marriage,  but  allowing  me  to  judge  for  mvself,  and  pro- 

R 


386  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

posing  tliat  I  should  see  your  son  again  on  the  following 
nioniing.  Had  I  done  so,  I  could  not  but  have  accepted 
hiin.  Think  of  it,  Lady  Lufton.  How  could  I  have  done 
other  than  accept  him,  seeing  that  in  my  heart  I  had  ac- 
cepted his  love  already  ?" 

"  Well  ?"  said  Lady  Lufton,  not  wishing  now  to  put  in 
any  speech  of  her  own. 

"  I  did  not  see  him — I  refused  to  do  so — because  I  was 
a  coward.  I  could  not  endure  to  come  into  this  house  as 
your  son's  wife,  and  be  coldly  looked  on  by  your  son's 
mother.  Much  as  I  loved  him,  much  as  I  do  love  him, 
dearly  as  I  prize  the  generous  oiFer  which  he  came  down 
here  to  repeat  to  me,  I  could  not  live  with  him  to  be  made 
the  object  of  your  scorn.  I  sent  him  word,  therefore,  that 
I  would  have  him  when  you  would  ask  me,  and  not  be- 
fore." 

And  then,  having  thus  pleaded  her  cause,  and  pleaded  as 
she  believed  the  cause  of  her  lover  also,  she  ceased  from 
speaking,  and  prepared  herself  to  listen  to  the  story  of 
King  Cophetua. 

But  Lady  Lufton  felt  considerable  difficulty  in  commenc- 
ing her  speech.  In  the  first  place,  she- was  by  no  means  a 
hard-hearted  or  a  selfish  woman  ;  and  were  it  not  that  her 
own  son  Avas  concerned,  and  all  the  glory  which  was  re- 
flected upon  her  from  her  son,  her  sympathies  would  have 
been  given  to  Lucy  Robarts.  As  it  was,  she  did  sympa- 
thize with  her,  and  admire  her,  and  to  a  certain  extent  like 
her.  She  began  also  to  understand  what  it  was  that  had 
brought  about  her  son's  love,  and  to  feel  that  but  for  cer- 
tain unfortunate  concomitant  circumstances  the  girl  before 
her  might  have  made  a  fitting  Lady  Lufton.  Lucy  had 
grown  bigger  in  her  eyes  while  sitting  there  and  talking, 
and  had  lost  much  of  that  missish  want  of  importance — 
that  lack  of  social  weight  which  Lady  Lufton  in  her  own 
opinion  had  always  imputed  to  her.  A  girl  that  could  thus 
speak  np  and  explain  her  own  position  now,  would  be  able 
to  speak  up  and  explain  her  own,  and  perhaps  some  other 
positions  at  any  future  time. 

But  not  for  all,  or  any  of  these  reasons  did  Lady  Lufton 
think  of  giving  w^ay.  The  power  of  making  or  marring 
this  marriage  was  placed  in  her  hands,  as  w^as  very  fitting, 
and  that  power  it  behooved  her  to  use,  as  best  she  might 
use  it,  to  her  son's  advantage.     Much  as  sl^e  might  admire 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  387 

Lucy,  she  could  not  sacrifice  her  son  to  that  admiration. 
The  unfortunate  concomitant  circumstances  still  remained, 
and  were  of  sufiicient  force,  as  she  thought,  to  make  such  a 
marriage  inexpedient.  Lucy  was  the  sister  of  a  gentleman, 
who  by  his  peculiar  position  as  parish  clergyman  of  Fram- 
ley  was  unfitted  to  be  the  brother-in-law  of  the  owner  of 
Framley.  Nobody  liked  clergymen  better  than  Lady  Luf- 
ton,  or  was  more  willing  to  live  with  them  on  terms  of  af- 
fectionate intimacy,  but  she  could  not  get  over  the  feeling 
that  the  clergyman  of  her  own  parish — or  of  her  son's — 
was  a  part  of  her  own  establishment,  of  her  own  appanage 
— or  of  his — and  that  it  could  not  be  well  that  Lord  Luf- 
ton  should  marry  among  his  own — dependents.  Lady  Luf- 
ton  would  not  have  used  the  word,  but  she  did  think  it. 
And  then,  too,  Lucy's  education  had  been  so  deficient.  She 
had  had  no  one  about  her  in  early  life  accustomed  to  the 
ways  of — of  what  shall  I  say,  without  making  Lady  Luf- 
ton  appear  more  worldly  than  she  was  ?  Lucy's  wants  in 
this  respect,  not  to  be  defined  in  words,  had  been  exempli- 
fied by  the  very  w^ay  in  which  she  had  just  now  stated  her 
case.  She  had  shown  talent,  good  temper,  and  sound  judg- 
ment ;  but  there  had  been  no  quiet,  no  repose  about  her. 
The  species  of  power  in  young  ladies  which  Lady  Lufton 
most  admired  was  the  vis  mertim  belonging  to  beautiful 
and  dignified  reticence ;  of  this  poor  Lucy  had  none.  Then, 
too,,  she  had  no  fortune,  which,  though  a  minor  evil,  was  an 
evil ;  and  she  had  no  birth,  in  the  high-life  sense  of  the 
word,  which  was  a  greater  evil.  And  then,  thougli  her 
eyes  had  sparkled  when  she  confessed  her  love.  Lady  Luf- 
ton was  not  prepared  to  admit  that  she  was  possessed  of 
positive  beauty.  Such  were  the  unfortunate  concomitant 
circumstances  which  still  induced  Lady  Lufton  to  resolve 
that  the  match  must  be  marred. 

But  the  performance  of  her  part  in  this  play  was  much 
more  difiicult  than  she  had  imagined,  and  she  found  her- 
self obliged  to  sit  silent  for  a  minute  or  two,  during  which, 
however,  Miss  Robarts  made  no  attempt  at  farther  speech. 

"  I  am  greatly  struck,"  Lady  Lufton  said  at  last,  "  by  the 
excellent  sense  you  have  displayed  in  the  whole  of  this  af- 
fair; and  you  must  allow  me  to  say.  Miss  Robarts,  tliat  I 
now  regard  you  witli  very  different  feelings  from  those 
which  I  entertained  when  I  left  London."  Upon  this  Lucy 
bowed  her  head,  slightly  but  very  stiffly,  acknowledging 


388  FEAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

rather  the  former  censure  implied  than  the  present  eulogium 
expressed. 

"  But  my  feelings,"  continued  Lady  Lufton,  "  my  strong- 
est feelings  in  this  matter  must  be  those  of  a  mother. 
What  might  be  my  conduct  if  such  a  marriage  did  take 
place,  I  need  not  now  consider.  But  I  must  confess  that 
I  should  think  such  a  marriage  very — very  ill  judged.  A 
better  hearted  young  man  than  Lord  Lufton  does  not  ex- 
ist, nor  one  with  better  principles,  or  a  deeper  regard  for 
his  word  ;  but  he  is  exactly  the  man  to  be  mistaken  in  any 
hurried  outlook  as  to  his  future  life.  Were  you  and  he  to 
become  man  and  wife,  such  a  marriage  would  tend  to  the 
happiness  neither  of  him  nor  of  you." 

It  was  clear  that  the  whole  lecture  was  now  coming ; 
and  as  Lucy  had  openly  declared  her  own  weakness,  and 
thrown  all  the  power  of  decision  into  the  hands  of  Lady 
Lufton,  she  did  not  see  why  she  should  endure  this. 

"  We  need  not  argue  about  that.  Lady  Lufton,"  she  said. 
"I  have  told  you  the  only  circumstances  under  which  1 
would  marry  your  son  ;  and  you,  at  any  rate,  are  safe." 

"  No,  I  was  not  wishing  to  argue,"  answered  Lady  Luf- 
ton, almost  humbly,  "  but  I  was  desirous  of  excusing  my- 
self to  you,  so  that  you  should  not  think  me  cruel  in  with- 
holding my  consent.  I  wished  to  make  you  believe  that  I 
was  doing  the  best  for  my  son." 

"  I  am  sure  that  you  think  you  are,  and  therefore  no  ex- 
cuse is  necessary." 

"  No — exactly — of  course  it  is  a  matter  of  opinion,  and 
I  do  think  so.  I  can  not  believe  that  this  marriage  would 
make  either  of  you  happy,  and  therefore  I  should  be  very 
M'rong  to  express  my  consent." 

*'  Then,  Lady  Lufton,"  said  Lucy,  rising  from  her  chair, 
•'  I  suppose  we  have  both  now  said  what  is  necessary,  and 
I  will  therefore  Avish  you  good-by." 

"  Good-by,  Miss  Robarts.  I  Avish  I  could  make  you  un- 
derstand how  very  highly  I  regard  your  conduct  in  this 
matter.  It  has  been  above  all  praise,  and  so  I  shall  not 
hesitate  to  say  when  speaking- of  it  to  your  relatives."  This 
was  disagreeable  enough  to  Lucy,  Avho  cared  but  little  for 
any  praise  which  Lady  Lufton  might  express  to  her  rela- 
tives in  this  matter.  "And  pray,"  continued  Lady  Luf- 
ton, "  give  my  best  love  to  Mrs.  Robarts,  and  tell  her  that 
I  shall  hope  to  see  her  over  here  very  soon,  and  Mr.  Ro- 


FRAMLEY    PAESOXAGE.  389 

barts  also.  I  would  name  a  clay  for  you  all  to  dine,  but 
perhaps  it  will  be  better  that  I  should  have  a  little  talk 
with  Fanny  first." 

Lucy  muttered  something,  which  was  intended  to  signify 
that  any  such  dinner-party  had  better  not  be  made  up  Avith 
the  intention  of  including  her,  and  then  took  her  leave.  Slie 
had  decidedly  had  the  best  of  the  interview,  and  there  was 
a  consciousness  of  this  in  her  heart  as  she  allowed  Lady 
Lufton  to  shako  hands  with  her.  She  had  stopped  her  an- 
tagonist short  on  each  occasion  on  Avhich  an  attempt  had 
been  made  to  produce  the  homily  which  had  been  prepared, 
and  during  the  interview  had  spoken  probably  three  words 
for  every  one  which  her  ladyship  had  been  able  to  utter. 
But,  nevertheless,  there  was  a  bitter  feeling  of  disappoint- 
jnent  about  her  heart  as  she  walked  back  home,  and  a  feel- 
ing, also,  tliat  slie  herself  had  caused  her  own  unhappiness. 
Wliy  should  she  have  been  so  romantic,  and  chivalrous,  and 
self-sacrificing,  seeing  that  her  romance  and  chivalry  had 
all  been  to  his  detriment  as  well  as  to  hers— seeing  that 
she  sacrificed  him  as  well  as  herself?  Why  should  she 
have  been  so  anxious  to  play  into  Lady  Lufton's  hands? 
It  was  not  because  she  thought  it  right,  as  a  general  social 
rule,  that  a  lady  should  refuse  a  gentleman's  hand  unless 
the  gentleman's  mother  were  a  consenting  party  to  the 
marriage.  She  would  have  held  any  such  doctrine  as  ab- 
surd. The  lady,  she  would  have  said,  would  have  had  to 
look  to  her  own  family  and  no  farther.  It  was  not  virtue, 
but  cowardice  which  had  influenced  her,  and  she  had  none 
of  that  solace  which  may  come  to  us  in  misfortune  from  a 
consciousness  that  our  own  conduct  has  been  blameless. 
Lady  Lufton  had  inspired  her  with  awe,  and  any  such  feel- 
ing on  her  part  was  mean,  ignoble,  and  unbecoming  the 
spirit  with  which  she  wished  to  think  that  she  was  endow- 
ed. That  was  the  accusation  which  she  brought  against 
herself,  and  it  forbade  her  to  feel  any  triumph  as  to  the  re- 
sult of  her  interview. 

AYhen  she  reached  the  Parsonage,  Mark  was  there,  and 
they  were  of  course  expecting  her.  "  Well,"  said  she,  in 
her  short,  hurried  manner,  "  is  Puck  ready  again  ?  I  have 
no  time  to  lose,  and  I  must  go  and  pack  up  a  few  things. 
Have  you  settled  about  the  children,  Fanny  ?" 

"Yes;  I  will  tell  you  directlv ;  but  you  have  seen  Lady 
Lufton  ?" 


390  FEAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

"  Seen  her !  Oh  yes,  of  course  I  have  seen  her.  Did 
she  not  send  for  me  ?  and  in  that  case  it  was  not  on  the 
cards  that  I  sliould  disobey  her." 

"  And  what  did  she  say  ?" 

"How  green  you  are,  Mark;  and  not  only  green,  but 
impoUte  also,  to  make  me  rejoeat  the  story  of  my  own  dis- 
grace. Of  course  she  told  me  that  she  did  not  intend  that 
I  should  marry  my  lord,  her  son ;  and  of  course  I  said  that 
under  those  circumstances  I  should  not  think  of  doing  such 
a  thing." 

"Lucy,  I  can  not  understand  you,"  said  Fanny,  very 
gravely.  "I  am  sometimes  inclined  to  doubt  whether  you 
have  any  deep  feeling  in  the  matter  or  not.  If  you  have, 
how  can  you  bring  yourself  to  joke  about  it?" 

"  Well,  it  is  singular ;  and  sometimes  I  doubt  myself 
whether  I  have.  I  ought  to  be  pale,  ought  I  not  ?  and  very 
thin,  and  to  go  mad  by  degrees?  I  have  not  the  least  in- 
tention of  doing  any  thing  of  the  kind,  and,  therefore,  the 
matter  is  not  worth  any  farther  notice." 

"  But  was  she  civil  to  you,  Lucy  ?"  asked  Mark ;  "  civil 
in  her  manner,  you  know  ?" 

"  Oh,  uncommonly  so.  You  will  hardly  believe  it,  but 
she  actually  asked  me  to  dine.  She  always  does,  you  know, 
when  she  wants  to  show  her  good-humor.  If  you'd  broken 
your  leg,  and  she  "wished  to  commiserate  you,  she'd  ask  you 
to  dinner." 

"I  suppose  she  meant  to  be  kind,"  said  Fanny,  who  was 
not  disposed  to  give  up  her  old  friend,  though  she  was 
quite  ready  to  fight  Lucy's  battle,  if  there  were  any  occa- 
sion for  a  battle  to  be  fought. 

"Lucy  is  so  perverse,"  said  Mark,  "that  it  is  impossible 
to  learn  from  her  what  really  has  taken  place." 

.  "  Upon  my  word,  then,  you  know  it  all  as  well  as  I  can 
tell  you.  She  asked  me  if  Lord  Lufton  had  made  me  an 
ofier.  I  said  yes.  She  asked  next  if  I  meant  to  accept  it. 
!N'ot  without  her  approval,  I  said.  And  then  she  asked  us 
all  to  dinner.  That  is  exactly  what  took  place,  and  I  can 
not  see  that  I  have  been  perverse  at  all."  After  that  she 
threw  herself  into  a  chair,  and  Mark  and  Fanny  stood  look- 
ing at  each  other. 

"Mark,"  she  said,  after  a  while,  "don't  be  unkind  to  me. 
I  make  as  little  of  it  as  I  can,  for  all  our  sakes.  It  is  bet- 
ter so,  Fanny,  than  that  I  should  go  about  moaning  like  a 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  391 

sick  COW ;"  and  then  they  looked  at  her,  and  saw  that  the 
tears  were  ah-eady  brimming  over  from  her  eyes. 

"  Dearest,  dearest  Lucy,"  said  Fanny,  immediately  going 
down  on  her  knees  before  her,  "  I  won't  be  unkind  to  you 
again."     And  then  they  had  a  great  cry  together. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

KIDNAPPING  AT  HOGGLESTOCK. 

The  great  cry,  however,  did  not  take  long,  and  Lucy  was 
soon  in  the  pony-carriage  again.  On  this  occasion  her 
brother  volunteered  to  drive  her,  and  it  was  now  under- 
stood that  he  was  to  bring  back  with  him  all  the  Crawley 
children.  The  whole  thing  had  been  arranged ;  the  groom 
and  his  wife  were  to  be  taken  into  the  house,  and  the  big 
bedroom  across  the  yard,  usually  occupied  by  them,  was 
to  be  converted  into  a  quarantine  hospital  until  such  time 
as  it  might  be  safe  to  pull  down  the  yellow  flag.  They 
were  about  half  way  on  their  road  to  Hogglestock  when 
they  were  overtaken  by  a  man  on  horseback,  whom,  when 
he  came  up  beside  them,  Mr.  Robarts  recognized  as  Dr. 
Arabin,  Dean  of  Barchester,  and  head  of  the  chapter  to 
which  he  himself  belonged.  It  immediately  appeared  that 
the  dean  also  was  going  to  Hogglestock,  having  heard  of 
the  misfortune  that  had  befallen  his  friends  there ;  he  had, 
he  said,  started  as  soon  as  the  news  reached  him,  in  order 
that  he  might  ascertain  how  best  he  might  render  assist- 
ance. To  effect  this  he  had  undertaken  a  ride  of  nearly 
forty  miles,  and  explained  that  he  did  not  expect  to  reach 
home  again  much  before  midnight. 

"  You  pass  by  Framley  ?"  said  Robarts. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  the  dean. 

"  Then  of  course  you  will  dine  with  us  as  you  go  home ; 
you  and  your  horse  also,  which  will  be  quite  as  imjDortant." 
This  having  been  duly  settled,  and  the  proper  ceremony 
of  introduction  having  taken  place  between  the  dean  and 
Lucy,  they  proceeded  to  discuss  the  character  of  Mr. 
Crawley. 

*'  I  have  known  him  all  my  life,"  said  the  dean,  "  having 
been  at  school  and  college  with  him,  and  for  years  since 
that  I  was  on  terms  of  the  closest  intimacy  with  him ;  but 
in  spite  of  that,  I  do  not  know  how  to  help  him' in  his  need. 


392  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

A  prouder-hearted  man  I  never  met,  or  one  less  willing  to 
share  his  sorrows  with  his  friends." 

"  I  have  often  heard  him  speak  of  you,"  said  Mark. 

"  One  of  the  bitterest  feelings  I  have  is  that  a  man  so 
dear  to  me  should  live  so  near  to  me,  and  that  I  should  see 
so  little  of  him.  But  what  can  I  do  ?  He  will  not  come 
to  my  house ;  and  when  I  go  to  his,  he  is  angry  Avith  me 
because  I  wear  a  shovel  hat  and  ride  on  horseback." 

"  I  should  leave  my  hat  and  my  horse  at  the  borders  of 
the  last  parish,"  said  Lucy,  timidly. 

"  Well — yes,  certainly  ;  one  ought  not  to  give  offense 
3ven  in  such  matters  as  that;  but  my  coat  and  waistcoat 
would  then  be  equally  objectionable.  I  have  changed — in 
outward  matters  I  mean,  and  he  has  not.  That  irritates 
him ;  and,  unless  I  could  be  what  I  was  in  the  old  days,  he 
will  not  look  at  me  with  the  same  eyes ;"  and  then  he  rode 
on,  in  order,  as  he  said,  that  the  first  pang  of  the  interview 
might  be  over  before  Robarts  and  his  sister  came  upon  the 
scene. 

Mr.  Crawley  was  standing  before  his  door,  leaning  over 
the  little  wooden  railing,  when  the  dean  trotted  up  on  his 
horse.  He  had  come  out,  after  hours  of  close  watching,  to 
get  a  few  mouthfuls  of  the  sweet  summer  air,  and  as  ho 
stood  there  he  held  the  youngest  of  his  children  in  his 
arms.  The  poor  little  baby  sat  there,  quiet  indeed,  but 
hardly  happy.  This  father,  though  he  loved  his  offspring 
with  an  affection  as  intense  as  that  which  human  nature 
can  supply,  was  not  gifted  with  the  knack  of  making  chil- 
dren fond  of  him  ;  for  it  is  hardly  more  than  a  loiack,  that 
aptitude  which  some  men  have  of  gaining  the  good  graces 
of  the  young.  Such  men  are  not  always  the  best  fathers 
or  the  safest  guardians  ;  but  they  carry  about  with  them  a 
certain  due  ad  me  which  children  recognize,  and  which  in 
three  minutes  upsets  all  the  barriers  between  five  and  five- 
and-foj'ty.  But  Mr.  Crawley  was  a  stern  man,  thinking 
ever  of  the  souls  and  minds  of  his  bairns — as  a  father  should 
do ;  and  thinking  also  that  every  season  was  fitted  for  op- 
erating on  these  souls  and  minds — as,  perhaps,  he  should 
not  have  done  either  as  a  father  or  as  a  teacher;  and  con- 
sequently his  children  avoided  him  when  the  choice  was 
given  them,  thereby  adding  fresh  wounds  to  his  torn  heart, 
but  by  no  means  quenching  any  of  the  great  love  w-ith 
which  he  regarded  them. 


PRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  393 

He  was  standing  there  thus  with  a  placid  little  baby  in 
his  arms — a  baby  placid  enough,  but  one  that  would  not 
kiss  him  eagerly,  and  stroke  his  face  with  her  soft  little 
iiands,  as  he  would  have  had  her  do — when  he  saw  the 
dean  coming  toward  him.  He  was  sharp-sighted  as  a  lynx 
out  in  the  open  air,  though  now  obhged  to  pore  over  his 
well-fingered  books  with  spectacles  on  his  nose ;  and  thus 
he  knew  his  friend  from  a  long  distance,  and  had  time  to 
meditate  the  mode  of  his  greeting.  He  too  doubtless  had 
come,  if  not  with  jelly  and  chicken,  then  with  money  and 
advice— with  money  and  advice  such  as  a  thriving  dean 
might  offer  to  a  poor  brother  clergyman  ;  and  Mr.  Crawley, 
though  no  husband  could  possibly  be  more  anxious  for  a 
wife's  safety  than  he  was,  immediately  put  his  back  up  and 
began  to  bethink  himself  how  these  tenders  might  be  re- 
jected. 

"How  is  she?"  were  the  first  words  which  the  dean 
spoke  as  he  pulled  up  his  horse  close  to  the  little  gate,  and 
put  out  his  hand  to  take  that  of  his  friend. 

"  How  are  you,  Arabin  ?"  said  he.  "  It  is  very  kind  of 
you  to  come  so  far,  seeing  how  much  there  is  to  keep  you 
at  Barchester.  I  can  not  say  that  she  is  any  better,  but  I 
do  not  know  that  she  is  worse.  Sometimes  I  fancy  that 
she  is  delirious,  though  I  hardly  know.  At  any  rate,  her 
mind  wanders,  and  then  after  that  she  sleeps." 

"But  is  the  fever  less?" 
•  "  Sometimes  less  and  sometimes  more,  I  imagine." 

"  And  the  children  ?" 

"  Poor  things !  they  are  well  as  yet." 

"  They  must  be  taken  from  this,  Crawley,  as  a  matter  of 
course." 

Mr.  Crawley  fancied  that  there  was  a  tone  of  authority 
in  the  dean's  advice,  and  immediately  put  himself  into  op- 
position. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  that  may  be ;  I  have  not  yet  made 
up  my  mind." 

"  But,  my  dear  Crawley — " 

"Providence  does  not  admit  of  such  removals  in  all 
cases,"  said  he.  "Among  the  poorer  classes  the  children 
must  endure  such  perils." 

"  In  many  cases  it  is  so,"  said  the  dean,  by  no  means  in- 
clined to  make  an  argument  of  it  at  the  present  moment, 
"but  in  this  case  they  need  not.     You  must  allow  me  to 

R2 


394  TEAMLEY  PAESONAGE. 

make  arrangements  for  sending  for  them,  as  of  course  your 
time  is  occupied  here." 

Miss  Robarts,  though  she  had  mentioned  her  intention 
of  staying  with  Mrs.  Crawley,  had  said  nothing  of  the  Fram- 
ley  plan  with  reference  to  the  children. 

"  What  you  mean  is  that  you  intend  to  take  the  burden 
off  my  shoulders — in  fact,  to  pay  for  them.  I  can  not  al- 
low that,  Arabin.  They  must  take  the  lot  of  their  father 
and  their  mother,  as  it  is  proper  that  they  should  do." 

Again  the  dean  had  no  inclination  for  arguing,  and 
thought  it  might  be  well  to  let  the  question  of  the  children 
drop  for  a  little  while. 

"And  is  there  no  nurse  with  her  ?"  said  he. 

"  No,  no ;  I  am  seeing  to  her  myself  at  the  present  mo- 
ment.    A  woman  will  be  here  just  now." 

"What  woman?" 

"  Well,  her  name  is  Mrs.  Stubbs ;  she  lives  in  the  parish. 
She  will  put  the  younger  children  to  bed,  and — and — but 
it's  no  use  troubling  you  with  all  that.  There  was  a  young 
lady  talked  of  coming,  but  no  doubt  she  has  foimd  it  too 
inconvenient.     It  will  be  better  as  it  is." 

"  You  mean  Miss  Robarts ;  she  will  be  here  directly ;  I 
passed  her  as  I  came  here ;"  and,  as  Dr.  Arabin  Avas  yet 
speaking,  the  noise  of  the  carriage-wheels  was  heard  upon 
the  road. 

"  I  will  go  in  now,"  said  Mr.  Crawley,  "  and  see  if  she 
still  sleeps ;"  and  then  he  entered  the  house,  leaving  the 
dean  at  the  door  still  seated  upon  his  horse.  "  He  will  be 
afraid  of  the  infection,  and  I  will  not  ask  him  to  come  in," 
said  Mr.  Crawley  to  himself. 

"  I  shall  seem  to  be  prying  into  his  poverty  if  I  enter 
unasked,"  said  the  dean  to  himself.  And  so  he  remained 
there  till  Puck,  now  acquainted  with  the  locality,  stopped 
at  the  door. 

"  Have  you  not  been  in  ?"  said  Robarts. 

"  No ;  Crawley  has  been  at  the  door  talking  to  me ;  he 
will  be  here  directly,  I  suppose ;"  and  then  Mark  Robarts 
also  prepared  himself  to  wait  till  the  master  of  the  house 
should  reappear. 

But  Lucy  had  no  such  punctilious  misgivings ;  she  did 
not  much  care  now  whether  she  offended  Mr.  Crawley  or 
no.  Her  idea  was  to  place  herself  by  the  sick  woman's 
bedside,  and  to  send  the  four  children  away — with  their 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  395 

father's  consent  if  it  might  be,  but  certainly  without  it  if 
that  consent  were  withheld.  So  she  got  down  from  the 
carriage,  and,  taking  certain  packages  in  her  hand,  made 
her  way  direct  into  the  house. 

"  There's  a  big  bundle  under  the  seat,  Mark,"  she  said  ; 
"  I'll  come  and  fetch  it  directly  if  you'll  drag  it  out." 

For  some  five  minutes  the  two  dignitaries  of  the  Church 
remained  at  the  doors,  one  on  his  cob  and  the  other  in  his 
low  carriage,  saying  a  few  words  to  each  other,  and  wait- 
ing till  some  one  should  again  appear  from  the  house.  "  It 
is  all  arranged,  indeed  it  is,"  were  the  first  words  which 
reached  their  ears,  and  these  came  from  Lucy.  "There 
will  be  no  trouble  at  all,  and  no  expense,  and  they  shall  all 
come  back  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Crawley  is  able  to  get  out  of  bed." 

"But,  Miss  Robarts,  I  can  assure — "  That  was  Mr. 
Crawley's  voice,  heard  from  him  as  he  followed  Miss  Ro- 
barts to  the  door ;  but  one  of  the  elder  children  had  then 
called  him  into  the  sick-room,  and  Lucy  was  left  to  do  her 
worst. 

"  Are  you  going  to  take  the  children  back  with  you  ?" 
said  the  dean. 

"  Yes ;  Mrs.  Robarts  has  prepared  for  them." 

"You  can  take  greater  liberties  with  my  friend  here 
than  I  can." 

"  It  is  all  my  sister's  doing,"  said  Robarts.  "  Women 
are  always  bolder  in  such  matters  than  men."  And  then 
Lucy  reappeared,  bringing  Bobby  with  her,  and  one  of  the 
younger  children. 

"  Do  not  mind  what  he  says,"  said  she,  "  but  drive  away 
when  you  have  got  them  all.  Tell  Fanny  I  have  put  into 
the  basket  what  things  I  could  find,  but  they  are  very  few. 
She  must  borrow  things  for  Grace  from  Mrs.  Granger's  lit- 
tle girl"  (Mrs.  Granger  was  the  wife  of  a  Framley  farm- 
er) ;  "  and,  Mark,  turn  Puck's  head  round,  so  that  you 
may  be  off  in  a  moment.  I'll  have  Grace  and  the  other 
one  here  directly."  And  then,  leaving  her  brother  to  pack 
Bobby  and  his  little  sister  in  the  back  part  of  the  vehicle, 
she  returned  to  her  business  in  the  house.  She  had  just 
looked  in  at  Mrs.  Crawley's  bed,  and,  finding  her  awake, 
had  smiled  on  her,  and  deposited  her  bundle  in  token  of 
her  intended  stay,  and  then,  without  speaking  a  word,  had 
gone  on  her  errand  about  the  children.  She  had  called  to 
Grace  to  show  her  where  she  might  find  such  things  as 


896  FRAMLEY    TARSONAGE. 

were  to  be  taken  to  Framley ;  and  having  explained  to  tlio 
bairns,  as  well  as  she  might,  the  destiny  which  immediately 
awaited  tliem,  prepared  them  for  their  departure  without 
saying  a  word  to  Mr.  Crawley  on  the  subject.  Bobby  and 
the  elder  of  the  two  infants  were  stowed  away  safely  in 
the  back  part  of  the  carriage,  Avhere  they  allowed  them, 
selves  to  be  placed  without  saying  a  word.  They  opened 
their  eyes  and  stared  at  the  dean,  who  sat  by  on  his  horse, 
and  assented  to  such  orders  as  Mr.  Robarts  gave  them — no 
doubt  with  much  surprise,  but  nevertheless  in  absolute  si- 
lence. 

"  Now,  Grace,  be  quick,  there's  a  dear,"  said  Lucy,  re- 
turning with  the  infant  in  her  arms.  "  And,  Grace,  mind 
you  are  very  careful  about  baby ;  and  bring  the  basket ; 
I'll  give  it  you  when  you  are  in."  Grace  and  the  other 
child  were  then  packed  on  to  the  other  seat,  and  a  basket 
with  children's  clothes  put  in  on  the  top  of  them.  "  That'll 
do,  Mark ;  good-by ;  tell  Fanny  to  be  sure  and  send  the 
day  after  to-morrow,  and  not  to  forget — "  and  then  she 
whispered  into  her  brother's  ear  an  injunction  about  cer- 
tain dairy  comforts  Avhich  might  not  be  spoken  of  in  the 
hearing  of  Mr.  Crawley.  "  Good-by,  dears ;  mind  you  are 
good  children ;  you  shall  hear  about  mamma  the  day  after 
to-morrow,"  said  Lucy ;  and  Puck,  admonished  by  a  sound 
from  his  master's  voice,  began  to  move  just  as  Mr.  Crawley 
reappeared  at  the  house  door. 

"  Oh,  oh,  stop !"  he  said.  .  "  Miss  Robarts,  you  really  had 
better  not — " 

"  Go  on,  Mark,"  said  Lucy,  in  a  whisper,  which,  whether 
audible  or  not  by  Mr.  Crawley,  was  heard  very  plainly  by 
the  dean.  And  Mark,  Avho  had  slightly  arrested  Puck  by 
the  reins  on  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Crawley,  now  touched 
the  impatient  little  beast  Avith  his  whip,  and  the  vehicle 
with  its  freight  darted  off  rapidly,  Puck  shaking  his  head 
and  going  away  with  a  tremendously  quick  short  trot, 
which  soon  separated  Mr.  Crawley  from  his  family. 

"Miss  Robarts,"  he  began,  "this  step  has  been  taken  al- 
together without — " 

"Yes,"  said  she,  interrupting  him.  "My  brother  was 
obliged  to  return  at  once.  The  children,  you  know,  will 
remain  altogether  at  the  Parsonage,  and  that,  I  think,  is 
Avhat  Mrs.  Crawley  will  best  like.  In  a  day  or  two  they 
will  be  under  Mrs.  Robarts's  own  charge." 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  397 

"  But,  my  dear  Miss  Robarts,  I  had  no  intention  what- 
ever of  putting  the  burden  of  my  family  on  the  shoulders 
of  another  person.  They  must  return  to  their  own  home 
immediately — that  is,  as  soon  as  they  can  be  brought  back." 

"I  really  think  Miss  Kobarts  has  managed  very  well," 
said  the  dean.  "Mrs.  Crawley  must  be  so  much  more 
comfortable  to  think  that  they  are  out  of  danger." 

"  And  they  will  be  quite  comfortable  at  the  Parsonage," 
said  Lucy. 

"  I  do  not  at  all  doubt  that,"  said  Mr.  Crawley ;  "  but 
too  much  of  such  comforts  will  unfit  them  for  their  home ; 
and — and  I  could  have  wished  that  I  had  been  consulted 
more  at  leisure  before  the  proceeding  had  been  taken." 

"  It  was  arranged,  Mr.  Crawley,  when  I  was  here  before, 
that  the  children  had  better  go  away,"  pleaded  Lucy. 

"  I  do  not  remember  agreeing  to  such  a  measure,  Miss 
Robarts ;  however —  I  suppose  they  can  not  be  had  back 
to-night?" 

"  No,  not  to-night,"  said  Lucy.  "  And  now  I  will  go  in 
to  your  wife."  And  then  she  returned  to  the  house,  leav- 
ing the  two  gentlemen  at  the  door.  At  this  moment  a 
laborer's  boy  came  sauntering  by,  and  the  dean,  obtaining 
possession  of  his  services  for  the  custody  of  his  horse,  was 
able  to  dismount  and  put  himself  on  a  more  equal  footing 
for  conversation  with  his  friend. 

"  Crawley,"  said  he,  putting  his  hand  affectionately  on 
his  friend's  shoulder,  as  they  both  stood  leaning  on  the  lit- 
tle rail  before  the  door,  "  that  is  a  good  girl — a  very  good 
girl." 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  slowly,  "  she  means  well." 

*'  Nay,  but  she  does  well — she  does  excellently.  What 
can  be  better  than  her  conduct  now  ?  While  I  was  medi- 
tating how  I  might  possibly  assist  your  wife  in  this  strait — " 

"  I  want  no  assistance — none,  at  least,  from  man,"  said 
Crawley,  bitterly. 

"  Oh,  my  friend,  think  of  what  you  are  saying !  Think 
of  the  wickedness  which  must  accompany  such  a  state  of 
mind !  Have  you  ever  known  any  man  able  to  walk  alone, 
without  assistance  from  his  brother  men?" 

Mr.  Crawley  did  not  make  any  immediate  answer,  but, 
putting  his  arms  behind  his  back  and  closing  his  hands,  as 
was  his  wont  when  he  walked  alone  thinking  of  the  gen- 
eral bitterness  of  his  lot  in  life,  began  to  move  slowly  along 


398     '  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

the  road  in  front  of  his  house.  He  did  not  invite  the  otlier 
to  waliv  with  him,  but  neither  was  there  any  thing  in  his 
manner  which  seemed  to  indicate  that  he  had  intended  to 
be  left  to  himself.  It  was  a  beautiful  summer  afternoon,  at 
that  delicious  period  of  the  year  when  summer  has  just 
burst  forth  from  the  growth  of  spring ;  when  the  summer 
is  yet  but  three  days  old,  and  all  the  various  shades  of 
green  which  Nature  can  put  forth  are  still  in  their  unsoiled 
purity  of  freshness.  The  sup-pie  blossoms  were  on  the  trees, 
and  the  hedges  were  sweet  with  May.  The  cuckoo  at  five 
o'clock  Avas  still  sounding  his  soft  summer  call  with  un-.. 
abated  energy,  and  even  the  common  grasses  of  the  hedge- 
rows were  sweet  with  the  fragrance  of  their  new  growth. 
The  foliage  of  the  oaks  was  complete,  so  that  every  bough 
and  twig  was  clothed ;  but  the  leaves  did  not  yet  hang 
heavy  in  masses,  and  the  bend  of  every  bough  and  the  ta- 
pering curve  of  every  twig  were  visible  through  their  light 
green  covering.  There  is  no  time  of  the  year  equal  in 
beauty  to  the  first  week  in  summer ;  and  no  color  which 
Nature  gives,  not  even  the  gorgeous  hues  of  autumn,  which 
can  equal  the  verdure  produced  by  the  first  warm  suns  of 
May. 

Hogglestock,  as  has  been  explained,  has  little  to  offer  in 
the  way  of  landscape  beauty,  and  the  clergyman's  house  at 
Hogglestock  was  not  placed  on  a  green  slopy  bank  of  land, 
retired  from  the  road,  w^ith  its  windows  opening  on  to  a 
lawn,  surrounded  by  shrubs,  with  a  view  of  the  small  church 
tower  seen  through  them ;  it  had  none  of  that  beauty 
which  is  so  common  to  the  cozy  houses  of  our  spiritual  pas- 
tors in  the  agricultural  parts  of  England.  Hogglestock 
Parsonage  stood  bleak  beside  the  road,  wdth  no  pretty 
paling  lined  inside  by  hollies  and  laburnum,  Portugal  lau- 
rels and  rose-trees.  But,  nevertheless,  even  Hogglestock 
was  pretty  now.  There  were  apple-trees'  there  covered 
with  blossom,  and  the  hedgerows  were  in  full  flower.  There 
were  thrushes  singing,  and  here  and  there  an  oak-tree  stood 
in  the  roadside,  perfect  in  its  solitary  beauty. 

"Let  us  walk  on  a  little,"  said  the  dean.  "Miss  Ro- 
barts  is  with  her  now,  and  you  will  be  better  for  leaving 
the  room  for  a  few  minutes." 

"  No,"  said  he, "  I  must  go  back ;  I  can  not  leave  that 
young  lady  to  do  my  work." 

"  Stop,  Crawley !"     And  the  dean,  putting  his  hand  upon 


FRAML^Y   PARSONAGE.  399 

him,  stayed  him  in  the  road.  "  She  is  doing  her  own  work, 
and  if  you  were  speaking  of  her  with  reference  to  any  other 
household  than  your  own,  you  w^ould  say  so.  Is  it  not  a 
comfort  to  you  to  know  that  your  wife  has  a  woman  near 
her  at  such  a  time  as  this,  and  a  woman,  too,  who  can  speak 
to  her  as  one  lady  does  to  another  ?" 

"  These  arc  comforts  Avhich  we  have  no  right  to  expect. 
I  could  not  have  done  much  for  poor  Mary,  but  w^hat  a . 
man  could  have  done  should  not  have  been  wanting." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it ;  I  know  it  well.  What  any  man  could 
do  by  himself  you  would  do — excepting  one  thing."  And 
the  dean,  as  he  spoke,  looked  full  into  the  other's  face. 

"  And  what  is  there  I  would  not  do  ?"  said  Crawley. 

"  Sacrifice  your  own  pride." 

"My  pride?" 

"  Yes,  your  own  pride." 

"  I  have  had  but  little  pride  this  many  a  day.  Arabin, 
you  do  not  know  what  my  life  has  been.  How  is  a  man 
to  be  proud  who — "  And  then  he  stopped  himself,  not 
W'ishing  to  go  through  the  catalogue  of  those  grievances 
which,  as  he  thought,  had  killed  the  very  germs  of  pride 
within  him,  or  to  insist  by  spoken  words  on  his  poverty, 
his  Avants,  and  the  injustice  of  his  position.  "  No,  I  wish  I 
could  be  proud ;  but  the  world  has  been  too  heavy  to  me, 
and  I  have  forgotten  all  that." 

"  How  long  have  I  known  you,  Crawley  ?" 

"  How  long  ?     Ah  dear !  a  lifetime  nearly,  now." 

"  And  we  were  like  brothers  once." 

"  Yes,  we  were  equal  as  brothers  then — in  our  fortunes, 
our  tastes,  and  our  modes  of  life." 

"  And  yet  you  would  begrudge  me  the  pleasure  of  put- 
ting my  hand  in  my  pocket,  and  relieving  the  inconven- 
iences which  have  been  thrown  on  you,  and  those  you 
love  better  than  yourself,  by  the  chances  of  your  fate  in 
life." 

"  I  will  live  on  no  man's  charity,"  said  Crawley,  with  an 
abruptness  which  amounted  almost  to  an  expression  Of 
anger. 

''  And  is  not  that  pride  ?" 

"  No — yes — it  is  a  species  of  pride,  but  not  that  pride 
of  which  you  spoke.  A  man  can  not  be  honest  if  he  have 
not  some  pride.  You  yourself — would  you  not  rather 
starve  than  become  a  beggar  ?" 


400  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

"I  would  rather  beg  than  see  my  wife  starve,"  said 
Arabin. 

Crawley,  when  he  heard  these  words,  turned  sharply 
round,  and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  dean,  Avith  his  hands 
still  behind  him,  and  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground. 

"  But  in  this  case  there  is  no  question  of  begging,"  con- 
tinued the  dean.  "I,  out  of  those  superfluities  which  it 
has  pleased  God  to  put  at  my  disposal,  am  anxious  to  assist 
the  needs  of  those  whom  I  love." 

"  She  is  not  starving,"  said  Crawley,  in  a  voice  very  bit- 
ter, but  still  intended  to  be  exculpatory  of  himself. 

"  No,  my  dear  friend,  I  know  she  is  not,  and  do  not  you 
be  angry  with  me  because  I  have  endeavored  to  put  the 
matter  to  you  in  the  strongest  language  I  could  use." 

"  You  look  at  it,  Arabin,  from  one  side  only  ;  I  can  only 
look  at  it  from  the  other.  It  is  very  sweet  to  give,  I  do 
not  doubt  that ;  but  the  taking  of  what  is  given  is  very 
bitter.  Gift  bread  chokes  in  a  man's  throat,  and  poisons 
his  blood,  and  sits  like  lead  upon  the  heart.  You  have 
never  tried  it." 

"  But  that  is  the  very  fault  for  which  I  blame  you.  That 
is  the  pride  which  I  say  you  ought  to  sacrifice." 

"  And  why  should  I  be  called  on  to  do  so  ?  Is  not  the 
laborer  worthy  of  his  hire  ?  Am  I  not  able  to  work,  and 
willing?  Have  I  not  always  had  my  shoulder  to  the  col- 
lar, and  is  it  right  that  I  should  now  be  contented  with  the 
scraps  from  a  rich  man's  kitchen  ?  Arabin,  you  and  I  were 
equal  once,  and  we  were  then  friends,  understanding  each 
other's  thoughts  and  sympathizing  with  each  other's  sor- 
roAvs.     But  it  can  not  be  so  now." 

"  If  there  be  such  inability,  it  is  all  with  you." 

"It  is  all  with  me,  because  in  our  connection  the  pain 
would  all  be  on  my  side.  It  Avould  not  hurt  you  to  see  me 
at  your  table  Avith  Avorn  shoes  and  a  ragged  shirt.  I  do 
not  think  so  meanly  of  you  as  that.  You  Avould  give  me 
your  feast  to  eat  though  I  Avere  not  clad  a  tithe  as  Aveil  as 
the  menial  behind  your  chair;  but  it-Avould  hurt  me  to 
knoAV  that  there  Avere  those  looking  at  me  Avho  thought  me 
unfit  to  sit  in  your  rooms." 

"  That  is  the  pride  of  Avhich  I  speak — false  pride." 

"  Call  it  so,  if  you  Avill ;  but,  Arabin,  no  preaching  of 
yours  can  alter  it.  It  is  all  that  is  left  to  me  of  my  manli- 
ness.    That  poor  broken  reed  Avho  is  lying  there  sick — Avho 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  401 

lias  sacrificed  all  tlie  world  to  her  love  for  me,  who  is  the 
mother  of  my  children,  and  the  partner  of  my  sorrows  and 
the  wife  of  my  bosom,  even  she  can  not  change  me  in  this, 
though  she  pleads  with  the  eloquence  of  all  her  wants.  Not 
even  for  her  can  I  hold  out  my  hand  for  a  dole." 

They  had  now  come  back  to  the  door  of  the  house,  and 
Mr.  Crawley,  hardly  conscious  of  what  he  was  doing,  was 
preparing  to  enter. 

"Will  Mrs.  Crawley  be  able  to  see  me  if  I  come  in?" 
said  the  dean. 

"Oh,  stop — no — you  had  better  not  do  so,"  said  Mr. 
Crawley.  "  You,  no  doubt,  might  be  subject  to  infection, 
and  then  Mrs.  Arabin  would  be  frightened." 

"  I  do  not  care  about  it  in  the  least,"  said  the  dean. 

"  But  it  is  of  no  use ;  you  had  better  not.  Her  room,  I 
fear,  is  quite  unfit  for  you  to  see;  and  the  whole  house, 
you  know,  may  be  infected." 

Dr.  Arabin  by  this  time  was  in  the  sitting-room ;  but, 
seeing  that  his  friend  was  really  anxious  that  he  should  not 
go  farther,  he  did  not  persist. 

"  It  will  be  a  comfort  to  us,  at  any  rate,  to  know  that 
Miss  Robarts  is  with  her." 

"  The  young  lady  is  very  good — very  good  indeed,"  said 
Crawley ;  "  but  I  trust  she  will  return  to  her  home  to-mor- 
row. It  is  impossible  that  she  should  remain  in  so  poor  a 
house  as  mine.  There  will  be  nothing  here  of  all  the  things 
that  she  will  Avant." 

The  dean  thought  that  Lucy  Robarts's  wants  during  her 
present  occupation  of  nursing  would  not  be  so  numerous 
as  to  make  her  continued  sojourn  in  Mrs.  Crawley's  sick- 
room impossible,  and  therefore  took  his  leave  with  a  satis- 
fied conviction  that  the  poor  lady  would  not  be  left  wholly 
to  the  somewhat  unskillful  nursing  of  her  husband. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

MR.  SOWERBY   WITHOUT   COMPANY. 

And  now  there  were  going  to  be  wondrous  doings  in 
West  Barsetshire,  and  men's  minds  were  much  disturbed. 
The  fiat  had  gone  forth  from  the  high  places,  and  the  queen 
had  dissolved  her  faithful  Commons.  The  giants,  finding 
that  they  could  effect  little  or  nothing  with  the  old  House, 


402  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

had  resolved  to  try  what  a  new  venture  would  do  for  them, 
and  the  hubbub  of  a  general  election  was  to  pervade  the 
country.  This  produced  no  inconsiderable  irritation  and 
annoyance,  for  the  House  was  not  as  yet  quite  three  years 
old ;  and  members  of  Parliament,  though  they  naturally 
feel  a  constitutional  pleasure  in  meeting  their  friends  and 
in  pressing  the  hands  of  their  constituents,  are,  neverthe- 
less, so  far  akin  to  the  lower  order  of  humanity  that  they 
appreciate  the  danger  of  losing  their  seats ;  and  the  cer- 
tainty of  a  considerable  outlay  in  their  endeavors  to  retain 
them  is  not  agreeable  to  the  legislative  mind. 

JSTever  did  the  old  family  fury  between  the  gods  and  gi- 
ants rage  higher  than  at  the  present  moment.  The  giants 
declared  that  every  turn  which  they  attempted  to  take  in 
their  country's  service  had.  been  thwarted  by  faction,  in 
spite  of  those  benign  promises  of  assistance  made  to  them 
only  a  few  weeks  since  by  their  opponents ;  and  the  gods 
answered  by  asserting  that  they  were  driven  to  this  oppo- 
sition by  the  Boeotian  fatuity  of  the  giants.  They  had  no 
doubt  promised  their  aid,  and  were  ready  to  give  it  to 
measures'  that  were  decently  prudent,  but  not  to  a  bill  en- 
abling government  at  its  will  to  pension  aged,  bishops! 
No,  there  must  be  some  limit  to  their  tolerance ;  and  when 
such  attempts  as  these  were  made,  that  limit  had  been  clear- 
ly passed. 

All  this  had  taken  place  openly  only  a  day  or  two  after 
that  casual  whisper  dropped  by  Tom  Towers  at  Miss  Dun- 
stable's party — by  Tom  Towers,  that  most  pleasant  of  all 
pleasant  fellows.  And  how  should  he  have  known  it,  he 
who  flutters  from  one  sweetest  flower  of  the  garden  to  an- 
other, 

"Adding  sugar  to  the  pink,  and  honey  to  the  rose, 
So  loved  for  what  he  gives,  but  taking  nothing  as  he  goes?" 

But  the  whisper  had  grown  into  a  rumor,  and  the  rumor 
into  a  fact,  and  the  political  world  was  in  a  ferment.  The 
giants,  furious  about  their  bishops'  pension  bill,  threatened 
the  House — most  injudiciously ;  and  then  it  was  most  beau- 
tiful to  see  how  indignant  members  got  up,  glowing  with 
honesty,  and  declared  that  it  was  base  to  conceive  that  any 
gentleman  in  that  House  could  be  actuated  in  his  vote  by 
any  hopes  or  fears  with  reference  to  his  seat.  And  so  mat- 
ters grew  from  bad  to  worse,  and  these  contending  parties 
never  hit  at  each  other  with  such  envenomed  wrath  as  they 


FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE.  403 

did  now,  having  entered  the  ring  together  so  lately  "vx^ith 
sucli  manifold  promises  of  good-Avill,  respect,  and  forbear- 
ance! 

But,  going  from  the  general  to  the  particular,  we  may 
say  that  nowhere  was  a  deeper  consternation  spread  than 
in  the  electoral  division  of  West  Barsetshire.  No  sooner 
had  the  tidings  of  the  dissolution  reached  the  county  than 
it  was  known  that  the  duke  intended  to  change  his  nomi- 
nee. Mr.  Sowerby  had  now  sat  for  the  division  since  the 
Refonn  Bill !  He  had  become  one  of  the  county  institu- 
tions, and  by  the  dint  of  custom  and  long  establishment 
had  been  borne  with  and  even  liked  by  the  county  gentle- 
men, in  spite  of  his  well-known  pecuniary  irregularities. 
Now  all  this  Avas  to  be  changed.  No  reason  had  as  yet 
been  publicly  given,  but  it  was  understood  that  Lord  Dum- 
bello  was  to  be  returned,  although  he  did  not  own  an  acre 
of  land  in  the  county.  It  is  true  that  rumor  went  on  to 
say  that  Lord  Dumbello  was  about  to  form  close  connec- 
tions with  Barsetshire.  He  was  on  the  eve  of  maiTying  a 
young  lady,  from  the  other  division  indeed,  and  was  now 
engaged,  so  it  was  said,  in  completing  arrangements  with 
the  government  for  the  purchase  of  that  noble  crown  prop- 
erty usually  known  as  the  Chase  of  Chaldicotes.  It  was 
also  stated — this  statement,  however,  had  hitherto  been 
only  announced  in  confidential  whispers — that  Chaldicotes 
House  itself  would  soon  become  the  residence  of  the  mar- 
quis. The  duke  was  claiming  it  a^  his  own — would  very 
shortly  have  completed  his  claims  and  taken  possession; 
and  then,  by  some  arrangement  between  them,  it  was  to  be 
made  over  to  Lord  Dumbello. 

But  very  contrary  rumors  to  these  got  abroad  also* 
Men  said — such  as  dared  to  oppose  the  duke,  and  some  few 
also  who  did  not  dare  to  oj^pose  him  when  the  day  of  bat- 
tle came — that  it  was  beyond  his  grace's  power  to  turn 
Lord  Dumbello  into  a  Barsetshire  magnate.  The  crown 
property — such  men  said — was  to  fall  into  the  hands  of 
young  Mr.  Gresham,  of  Boxall  Hill,  in  the  other  division, 
and  that  the  terms  of  purchase  had  been  already  settled. 
And  as  to  Mr.  Sowerby's, property  and  the  house  of  Chal- 
dicotes— these  opponents  of  the  Omnium  interest  went  on 
to  explain — it  was  by  no  means  as  yet  so  certain  that  the 
duke  would  be  able  to  enter  it  and  take  possession.  The 
place  was  not  to  be  given  up  to  liim  quietly.     A  great  fight 


404  niAMLEY    TAKSONAGE. 

would  be  made,  and  it  was  beginning  to  be  believed  that 
the  enormous  mortgages  would  be  paid  oif  by  a  lady  of 
immense  wealth.  And  then  a  dash  of  romance  was  not 
wanting  to  make  these  stories  palatable.  This  lady  of  im- 
mense wealth  had  been  courted  by  Mr.  Sowerby,  had  ac- 
knowledged her  love,  but  had  refused  to  marry  him  on  ac- 
count of  his  character.  In  testimony  of  her  love,  however, 
she  was  about  to  pay  all  his  debts. 

It  was  soon  put  beyond  a  rumor,  and  became  manifest 
enough,  that  Mr.  Sowerby  did  not  intend  to  retire  from  the 
county  in  obedience  to  the  duke's  behests.  A  placard  was 
posted  through  the  whole  division  in  which  no  allusion  was 
made  by  name  to  the  duke,  but  in  which  Mr.  Sowerby 
warn-ed  his  friends  not  to  be  led  away  by  any  report  that 
he  intended  to  retire  from  the  representation  of  West  Bar- 
setshire.  "  He  had  sat,"  the  placard  said,  "  for  the  same 
county  during  the  full  period  of  a  quarter  of  a  century, 
and  he  would  not  lightly  give  up  an  honor  that  had  been 
extended  to  him  so  often  and  which  he  prized  so  dearly. 
There  were  but  few  men  now  in  the  House  whose  connec- 
tion with  the  same  body  of  constituents  had  remained  un- 
broken so  long  as  had  that  which  bound  him  ta  West  Bar- 
setshire,  and  he  confidently  hoped  that  that  connection 
might  be  continued  through  another  period  of  coming  years 
till  he  might  find  himself  in  the  glorious  position  of  being 
the  father  of  the  county  members  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons." The  placard  said  much  more  than  this,  and  hinted 
at  sundry  and  various  questions,  all  of  great  interest  to  the 
county ;  but  it  did  not  say  one  word  of  the  Duke  of  Om- 
nium, though  every  one  knew  what  the  duke  was  supposed 
to  be  doing  in  the  matter.  He  was,  as  it  were,  a  great 
Llama,  shut  up  in  a  holy  of  holies,  inscrutable,  invisible,  in- 
exorable— not  to  be  seen  by  men's  eyes  or  heard  by  their 
ears,  hardly  to  be  mentioned  by  ordinary  men  at  such  pe- 
riods as  these  without  an  inward  quaking.  But,  neverthe- 
less, it  was  he  who  was  supposed  to  rule  them.  Euphe- 
mism required  that  his  name  should  be  mentioned  at  no  pub- 
lic meetings  in  connection  with  the  coming  election ;  but, 
nevertheless,  most  men  in  the  coimty  believed  that  he  could 
send  his  dog  up  to  the  House  of  Commons  as  member  for 
West  Barsetshire  if  it  so  pleased  him. 

It  was  supposed,  therefore,  that  our  friend  Sowerby 
Avould  have  no  chance ;  but  he  was  lucky  in  finding  assist- 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  405 

ance  in  a  quarter  from  which  he  certainly  had  not  deserved 
it.  lie  had  been  a  stanch  friend  of  the  gods  during  the 
whole  of  his  political  life — as,  indeed,  was  to  be  expected, 
seeing  that  he  had  been  the  duke's  nominee ;  but,  never- 
theless, on  the  2)resent  occasion,  all  the  giants  connected 
with  the  county  came  forward  to  his  rescue.  They  did 
not  do  this  with  the  acknowledged  purpose  of  opposing 
the  duke ;  they  declared  that  they  were  actuated  by  a  gen- 
erous disinclination  to  see  an  old  county  member  put  from 
his  seat;  but  the  world  knew  that  the  battle  was  to  be 
waged  against  the  great  Llama.  It  was  to  be  a  contest 
between  the  powers  of  aristocracy  and  the  powers  of  oli- 
garchy, a^  those  powers  existed  in  West  Barsetshire,  and 
it  may  be.  added  that  democracy  would  have  very  little  to 
say  to  it  on  one  side  or  on  the  other.  The  lower  order  of 
voters,  the  small  farmers  and  tradesmen,  would  no  doubt 
range  themselves  on  the  side  of  the  duke,  and  would  en- 
deavor to  flatter  themselves  that  they  were  thereby  fur- 
thering the  views  of  the  liberal  side,  but  they  would,  in 
fact,  be  led  to  the  poll  by  an  old-fasliioned,  time-honored 
adherence  to  the  will  of  their  great  Llama,  and  by  an  ap- 
prehension of  evil  if  that  Llama  should  arise  and  shake 
himself  in  his  wrath.  What  might  not  come  to  the  county 
if  the  Llama  were  to  walk  himself  off,  he,  with  his  satellites, 
and  armies,  and  courtiers  ?  There  "he  was,  a  great  Llama ; 
and,  though  ho  came  among  them  but  seldom,  and  was 
scarcely  seen  when  he  did  come,  nevertheless — and  not  the 
less,  but  rather  the  more — was  obedience  to  him  considered 
as  salutary  and  opposition  regarded  as  dangerous.  A  great 
rural  Llama  is  still  sufficiently  mighty  in  rural  England. 

But  the  priest  of  the  temple,  Mr.  Fothergill,  was  frequent 
enough  in  men's  eyes,  and  it  was  beautiful  to  hear  Avith  how 
varied  a  voice  he  alluded  to  the  things  around  him  and  to 
the  changes  which  were  coming.  To  the  small  f^irmers, 
not  only  on  the  Gatherum  property,  but  on  others  also,  he 
spoke  of  the  duke  as  a  beneficent  influence,  shedding  pros- 
perity on  all  around  him,  keeping  up  prices  by  his  pres- 
ence, and  forbidding  the  poor-rates  to  rise  above  one  and 
fourpence  in  the  pound  by  the  general  employment  which 
he  occasioned.  Men  must  be  mad,  he  thought,  who  would 
willingly  fly  in  the  duke's  face.  To  the  squires  from  a  dis- 
tance he  declared  that  no  one  liad  a  right  to  charge  the 
duke  with  any  interference — as  far,  at  least,  as  he  "knew  the 


406  FllAMLEY    PAIiSOXAGE. 

duke's  mind.  People  would  talk  of  things  of  which  they 
understood  nothing.  Could  any  one  say  that  he  had  traced 
a  single  request  for  a  vote  home  to  the  duke?  All  this 
did  not  alter  the  settled  conviction  on  men's  minds,  but  it 
had  its  effect,  and  tended  to  increase  the  mystery  in  which 
the  duke's  doings  were  enveloped.  But  to  his  own  famil- 
iars— to  the  gentry  immediately  around  him,  Mr.  Fother- 
gill  merely  winked  his  eye.  They  knew  what  was  what, 
and  so  did  he:  The  duke  had  never  been  bit  yet  in  such 
matters,  and  Mr.  Fothergill  did  not  think  that  he  would 
now  submit  himself  to  any  such  operation. 

I  never  heard  in  what  manner  and  at  what  rate  Mr. 
Fothergill  received  remuneration  for  the  various  services 
performed  by  him  with  reference  to  the  duke's  property  in 
Barsetshire,but  I  am  very  sure  that,  whatever  might  be  the 
amount,  he  earned  it  thoroughly.  Never  was  there  a  more 
faithful  partisan,  or  one  who,  in  his  pax'tisanship,  was  more 
discreet.  In  this  matter  of  the  coming  election  he  declared 
that  he  himself — personally,  on  his  own  hook — did  intend 
to  bestir  himself  actively  on  behalf  of  Lord  Dumbello.  Mr. 
Sowerby  was  an  old  friend  of  his,  and  a  very  good  fellow. 
That  was  true.  But  all  the  world  must  admit  that  Sower- 
by was  not  in  the  position  which  a  county  member  ought 
to  occupy.  He  was  a  ruined  man,  and  it  would  not  be  for 
his  own  advantage  that  he  should  be  maintained  in  a  posi- 
tion which  was  tit  only  for  a  man  of  property.  He  knew 
— he,  Fothergill — that  Mr.  Sowerby  must  al^andon  all  right 
and  claim  to  Chaldicotes ;  and  if  so,  what  would  be  more 
absurd  than  to  acknowledge  that  he  had  a  right  and  claim 
to  the  seat  in  Parliament.  As  to  Lord  Dumbello,  it  was 
probable  that  he  would  soon .  become  one  of  the  largest 
landowners  in  the  county ;  and,  as  such,  who  could  be  more 
fit  for  the  representation?  Beyond  this,  Mr.  Fothergill 
was  not  ashamed  to  confess — so  he  said — that  he  hoped  to 
hold  Lord  Dumbello's  agency.  It  would  be  compatible 
Avith  his  other  duties,  and  therefore,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
he  intended  to  support  Lord  Dumbello — he  himself,  that 
is.  As  to  the  duke's  mind  in  the  matter —  But  I  have 
already  explained  how  Mr.  Fothergill  disposed  of  that. 

In  these  days,  Mr.  Sowerby  came  down  to  his  own  house 
— for  ostensibly  it  was  still  his  own  house ;  but  he  came 
very  quietly,  and  his  arrival  was  hardly  known  in  his  own 
village.    -Though  his  placard  was  stuck  up  so  Avidely,  he 


FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  407 

himself  took  no  electioneering  steps — none,  at  least,  as  yet. 
The  protection  against  arrest  which  he  derived  from  Par- 
liament would  soon  be  over,  and  those  who  were  most  bit- 
ter against  the  duke  averred  that  steps  would  be  taken  to 
arrest  him,  should  he  give  sufficient  opportunity  to  the  myr- 
midons of  the  law.  That  he  would,  in  such  case,  be  arrest- 
ed, was  very  likely,  but  it  was  not  likely  that  this  would  be 
done  in  any  way  at  the  duke's  instance.  Mr.  Fothergill 
declared  indignantly  that  this  insinuation  made  him  very 
angry  ;  but  he  was  too  prudent  a  man  to  be  very  angry  at 
any  thing,  and  he  knew  how  to  make  capital  on  his  own 
side  of  charges  such  as  these  which  overshot  their  owi^ 
mark. 

Mr.  Sowerby  came  down  very  quietly  to  Chaldicotes, 
and  there  he  remained  for  a  couple  of  days  quite  alone. 
The  place  bore  a  very  different  aspect  now  to  that  which 
we  noticed  when  Mark  Robarts  drove  up  to  it,  in  the  early 
pages  of  this  little  narrative.  There  were.no  lights  in  the 
windows  now,  and  no  voices  came  from  the  stables ;  no 
dogs  barked,  and  all  was  dead  and  silent  as  the  grave. 
During  the  greater  portion  of  those  two  days  he  sat  alone 
within  the  house,  almost  unoccupied.  He  did  not  even 
open  his  letters  which  lay  piled  on  a  crowded  table  in  the 
small  breakfast  parlor  in  which  he  sat ;  for  the  letters  of 
such  men  come  in  piles,  and  there  are  few  of  them  which 
are  pleasant  in  the  reading.  There  he  sat,  troubled  with 
thoughts  which  were  sad  enough,  now  and  then  moving  to 
and  iro  the  house,  but  for  the  most  part  occupied  in  think- 
ing over  the  position  to  which  he  had  brought  himself. 
What  would  he  be  in  the  world's  eye  if  he  ceased  to  be 
the  owner  of  Chaldicotes,  and  ceased  also  to  be  the  mem- 
ber for  his  county  ?  He  had  lived  ever  before  the  world, 
and,  though  always  harassed  by  encumbrances,  had  been 
sustained  and  comforted  by  the  excitement  of  a  prominent 
position.  His  debts  and  difficulties  had  hitherto  been  bear- 
able, and  he  had  borne  them  with  ease  so  long  that  he  had 
almost  taught  himself  to  think  that  they  would  never  be 
unendurable.     But  now — 

The  order  for  foreclosing  had  gone  forth,  and  the  har- 
pies of  the  law,  by  their  presept  speed  in  sticking  their 
claws  into  the  carcase  of  his  property,  were  atoning  to 
themselves  for  the  delay  with  which  they  had  hitherto 
been  compelled  to  approach  their  prey.     And  the  order  as 


408  li'RAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

to  his  seat  liad  gone  forth  also.  That  placard  liad  been 
drawn  up  by  the  combined  efforts  of  his  sister,  Miss  Dim- 
stable,  and  a  certain  well-known  electioneering  agent  named 
Closerstill,  presumed  to  be  in  the  interest  of  the  giants. 
But  poor  Sowerby  had  but  little  confidence  in  the  placard. 
Xo  one  knew  better  than  he  how  great  was  the  duke's 
power. 

He  was  hopeless,  therefore,  as  he  w^alked  about  through 
those  empty  rooms,  thinking  of  his  past  life  and  of  that  life 
Avhich  was  to  come.  Would  it  not  be  well  for  him  that 
he  were  dead,  now  that  he  was  dying  to  all  that  had  made 
the  world  pleasant !  We  see  and  hear  of  such  men  as  Mr. 
Sowerby,  and  are  apt  to  think  that  they  enjoy  all  that  the 
world  can  give,  and  that  they  enjoy  that  all  without  pay- 
ment either  in  care  or  labor  ;  but  I  doubt  that,  with  even 
the  most  callous  of  them,  their  periods  of  Avretchedness 
must  be  frequent,  and  that  wretchedness  .very  intense. 
Salmon  and  lamb  in  February,  and  green  pease  and  new 
potatoes  in  March,  can  hardly  make  a  man  happy,  even 
though  nobody  pays  for  them ;  and  the  feeling  that  one  is 
an  antecedenteni  sceUstum  after  whom  a  sure,  though  lame 
Nemesis  is  hobbling,  must  sometimes  disturb  one's  slum- 
bers. On  the  present  occasion  Scelestus  felt  that  his  Ne- 
mesis had  overtaken  him.  Lame  as  she  had  been,  and  swift 
as  he  had  run,  she  had  mouthed  him  at  last,  and  there  was 
nothing  left  for  him  but  to  listen  to  the  "  whoop"  set  up  at 
the  sight  of  his  own  death-throes. 

It  was  a  melancholy,  dreary  place  now,  that  big  house 
of  Chaldicotes ;  and,  though  the  woods  w^ere  all  green  Avitli 
their  early  leaves,  and  the  gardens  thick  with  flow^ers,  they 
also  w^ere  melancholy  and  dreary.  The  lawns  were  un- 
trimmed,  and  Aveeds  Avere  growing  through  the  gravel,  and 
here  and  there  a  cracked  Dryad,  tumbled  from  her  pedestal 
and  sprawling  in  the  grass,  gave  a  look  of  disorder  to  the 
whole  place.  The  Avooden  trellis-AVork  Avas  shattered  here 
and  bending  there,  the  standard  rose-trees  Avere  stooping 
to  the  ground,  and  the  leaves  of  the  Avinter  still  encumber- 
ed the  borders.  Late  in  the  evening  of  the  second  day  Mr. 
SoAverby  strolled  out,  and  Avent  through  the  gardens  into 
the  Avood.  Of  all  the  inanimate  things  of  the  Avorld,  this 
w^ood  of  Chaldicotes  Avas  the  dearest  to  him.  He  Avas  not 
a  man  to  Avhom  his  companions  gave  much  credit  for  feel- 
ings or  thoughts  akin,  to  poetry,  but  here,  out  in  the  chase, 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  409 

his  mind  would  be  almost  poetical.  While  wandering 
among  the  forest  trees,  he  became  susceptible  of  the  ten- 
derness of  human  nature :  he  would  listen  to  the  birds 
singing,  and  pick  here  and  there  a  wild  flower  on  his  path. 
He  would  watch  the  decay  of  the  old  trees  and  the  prog- 
ress of  the  young,  and  make  pictures  in  his  eyes  of  every 
turn  in  the  wood.  He  would  mark  the  color  of  a  bit  of 
road  as  it  dipped  into  a  dell,  and  then,  passing  through  a 
water-course,  rose  brown,  rough,  irregular,  and  beautiful 
against  the  bank  on  the  other  side.  And  then  lie  would 
sit  and  think  of  his  old  family :  how  they  had  roamed  there 
time  out  of  mind  in  those  Chaldicotes  woods,  father,  and 
son,  and  grandson  in  regular  succession,  each  giving  them 
over,  without  blemish  or  decrease,  to  his  successor.  So  he 
would  sit ;  and  so  he  did  sit  even  now,  and,  thinking  of 
these  things,  wished  that  he  had  never  been  born. 

It  was  dark  night  when  he  returned  to  the  house,  and  as 
he  did  so,  he  resolved  that  he  would  quit  the  place  alto- 
gether, and  give  up  the  battle  as  lost.  The  duke  should 
take  it  and  do  as  he  pleased  wuth  it ;  and  as  for  the  seat  in 
ParUament,  Lord  Dumbello,  or  any  other  equally  gifted 
young  patrician,  might  hold  it  for  him.  *  He  Avould  vanish 
from  the  scene,  and  betake  .himself  to  some  land  from 
whence  he  would  be  neither  heard  nor  seen,  and  there — 
starve.  Such  were  now  his  future  outlooks  into  the  world; 
and  yet,  as  regards  health  and  all  physical  capacities,  he 
knew  that  he  was  still  in  the  jDrime  of  his  life.  Yes,  in  the 
prime  of  his  life !  But  what  could  he  do  with  what  re- 
mained to  him  of  such  prime  ?  How  could  he  turn  either 
his  mind  or  his  strength  to  such  account  as  might  now  be 
serviceable  ?  How  could  he,  in  his  sore  need,  earn  for  him- 
self even  the  barest  bread  ?  Would  it  not  be  better  for 
him  that  he  should  die?  Let  not  any  one  covet  the  lot  of 
a  spendthrift,  even  though  the  days  of  his  early  pease  and 
Champagne  seem  to  be  unnumbered,  for  that  lame  Ne- 
mesis will  surely  be  up  before  the  game  has  been  all  played 
out. 

When  Mr.  Sowerby  reached  his  home  he  found  that  a 
message  by  telegraph  had  arrived  for  him  in  his  absence. 
It  was  from  his  sister,  and  it  informed  him  that  she  would 
be  with  him  that  night.  She  was  coming  down  by  the 
mail  train,  had  telegraphed  to  Barchester  for  post-horses, 
and  would  be  at  Chaldicotes  about  two  hours  after  mid- 

S 


410  FEAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

night.  It  was  therefore  manifest  enough  that  her  business 
was  of  importance. 

Exactly  at  two  the  Barchester  post-chaise  did  arrive, 
and  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  before  she  retired  to  her  bed,  was 
closeted  for  about  an  hour  with  her  brother. 

"Well,"  she  said,  the  following  morning,  as  they  sat  to- 
gether at  the  breakfast-table,  "  what  do  you  say  to  it  now  ? 
If  you  accept  her  oifer,  you  should  be  with  her  lawyer  this 
afternoon." 

"  I  suppose  I  must  accept  it,"  said  he. 

"  Certainly,  I  think  so.  No  doubt  it  will  take  the  prop- 
erty out  of  your  own  hands  as  completely  as  though  the 
duke  had  it,  but  it  will  leave  you  the  house,  at  any  rate, 
for  your  life." 

"What  good  will  the  house  be,  when  I  can't  keep  it  up?" 

"  But  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  She  will  not  want  more 
than  her  fair  interest ;  and  as  it  will  be  thoroughly  well 
managed,  I  should  think  that  there  would  be  something 
over — something  enough  to  keep  up  the  house.  And  then, 
you  know,  we  must  have  some  place  in  the  country." 

"  I  tell  you  fairly,  Harriett,  that  I  will  have  nothing  far- 
ther to  do  with  Harold  in  the  way  of  money." 

"Ah !  that  was  because  you  would  go  to  him.  Why  did 
you  not  come  to  me  ?  And  then,  Nathaniel,  it  is  the  only 
way  in  which  you  can  have  a  chance  of  keeping  the  seat. 
She  is  the  queerest  woman  I  ever  met,  but  she  seems  re- 
solved on  beating  the  duke." 

"  I  do  not  quite  understand  it,  but  I  have  not  the  slight- 
est objection." 

"  She  thinks  that  he  is  interfering  with  young  Gresham 
about  the  crown  property.  I  had  no  idea  that  she  had  so 
much  business  at  her  fingers'  ends.  When  I  first  proposed 
the  matter,  she  took  it  up  quite  as  a  lawyer  might,  and 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  altogether  what  occurred  about 
that  other  matter." 

"  I  wish  I  could  forget  it  also,"  said  Mr.  Sowerby. 

"  I  really  think  that  she  does.  When  I  was  obliged  to 
make  some  allusion  to  it — at  least,  I  felt  myself  obliged, 
and  was  sorry  afterward  that  I  did — she  merely  laughed — 
a  great  loud  laugh  as  she  always  does,  and  then  went  on 
about  the  business.  However,  she  was  clear  about  this, 
that  all  the  expenses  of  the  election  should  be  added  to 
the  sum  to  be  advanced  by  her,  and  that  the  house  should 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  411 

be  left  to  you  without  any  rent.  If  you  choose  to  take  the 
land  round  the  house,  you  must  pay  for  it  by  the  acre,  as 
the  tenants  do.  She  was  as  clear  about  it  all  as  though  she 
had  passed  her  life  in  a  lawyer's  office." 

My  readers  will  now  pretty  well  understand  what  last 
step  that  excellent  sister,  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  had  taken  on 
her  brother's  behalf,  nor  will  they  be  surprised  to  learn 
that  in  the  course  of  the  day  Mr.  Sowerby  hurried  back  to 
town  and  put  himself  into  communication  with  Miss  Dun- 
stable's lawyer. 


CHAPTER  XXXVHI. 

IS   THERE   CAUSE    OR   JUST   IMPEDIMENT? 

I  NOW  i^urpose  to  visit  another  country  house  in  Barset- 
shire,  but  on  this  occasion  our  sojourn  shall  be  in  the  east- 
ern division,  in  w^hich,  as  in  every  other  county  in  England, 
electioneering  matters  are  paramount  at  the  present  mo- 
ment. It  has  been  mentioned  that  Mr.  Gresham  junior — 
young  Frank  Gresham,  as  he  was  always  called — lived  at 
a  place  called  Boxall  Hill.  This  property  had  come  to  his 
wife  by  will,  and  he  was  now  settled  there,  seeing  that  his 
father  still  held  the  family  seat  of  the  Greshams  at  Gresh- 
amsbury. 

At  the  present  moment  Miss  Dunstable  -v^as  staying  at 
Boxall  Hill  with  Mrs.  Frank  Gresham.  They  had  left  Lon- 
don, as,  indeed,  all  the  world  had  done,  to  the  terrible  dis- 
may of  the  London  tradesmen.  This  dissolution  of  Parlia- 
ment was  ruining  every  body  except  the  country  publicans, 
and  had,  of  course,  destroyed  the  London  season  among 
other  things. 

Mrs.  Harold  Smith  had  only  just  managed  to  catch  Miss 
Dunstable  before  she  left  London ;  t)ut  she  did  do  so,  and 
the  great  heiress  had  at  once  seen  her  lawyers,  and  instruct- 
ed them  how  to  act  with  reference  to  her  mortgages  on 
the  Chaldicotes  property*  Miss  Dunstable  was  in  the  habit 
of  speaking  of  herself  and  her  own  pecuniary  concerns  as 
though  she  herself  were  rarely  allowed  to  meddle  in  their 
management ;  but  this  was  one  of  those  small  jokes  which 
she  ordinarily  perpetrated ;  for,  in  truth,  few  ladies,  and 
perhaps  not  many  gentlemen,  have  a  more  thorough  knowl- 
edge of  their  own  concerns  or  a  more  potent  voice  in  their 


412  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

own  affairs  than  was  possessed  by  Miss  Dunstable.  Cir- 
cumstances had  lately  brought  her  much  into  Barsetshire, 
and  she  had  there  contracted  very  intimate  friendships. 
She  was  now  disposed  to.  become,  if  possible,  a  Barsetshire 
proprietor,  and  with  this  view  had  lately  agreed  with 
young  Mr.  Gresham  that  she  would  become  the  purchaser 
of  the  crown  property.  As,  however,  the  purchase  had 
been  commenced  in  his  name,  it  was  so  to  be  continued ; 
but  now,  as  we  are  aware,  it  was  rumored  that,  after  all, 
the  duke,  or,  if  not  the  duke,  then  the  Marquis  of  Pumbello, 
was  to  be  the  future  owner  of  the  Chase.  Miss  Dunstable, 
however,  was  not  a  person  to  give  up  her  object  if  she 
could  attain  it,  nor,  under  the  circumstances,  w^as  she  at  all 
displeased  at  finding  herself  endowed  with  the  power  of 
rescuing  the  "Sowerby  portion  of  the  Chaldicotes  property 
from  the  duke's  clutches.  Why  had  the  duke  meddled 
with  her,  or  with  her  friend,  as  to  the  other  property? 
Therefore  it  was  arranged  that  the  full  amount  due  to  the 
duke  on  mortgage  should  be  ready  for  immediate  payment ; 
but  it  was  arranged  also  that  the  security  as  held  by  Miss 
Dunstable  should  be  very  valid. 

Miss  Dunstable  at  Boxall  Hill  or  at  Greshamsbury  was  a 
very  different  person  from  Miss  Dunstable  in  London,  and 
it  was  this  difference  which  so  much  vexed  Mrs.  Gresham ; 
not  that  her  friend  omitted  to  bring  with  her  into  the  coun- 
try her  London  wit  and  aptitude  for  fun,  but  that  she  did 
not  take  witk  her  up  to  town  the  genuine  goodness  and 
love  of  honesty  which  made  her  lovable  in  the  country. 
She  was,  as  it  were,  two  persons,  and  Mrs.  Gresham  could 
not  understand  that  any  lady  should  permit  herself  to  be 
more  worldly  at  one  time  of  the  year  than  at  another,  or  in 
one  place  than  in  any  other. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  am  heartily  glad  we've  done  with 
that,"  Miss  Dunstable  said  to  her,  as  she  sat  herself  down 
to  her  desk  in  the  drawing-room  on  the  first  morning  after 
her  arrival  at  Boxall  Hill. 

"  What  does  '  that'  mean  ?"  said  Mrs.  Gresham. 

"  Why,  London,  and  smoke,  and  late  hours,  and  standing 
on  one's  legs  for  four  hours  at  a  stretch  on  the  top  of  one's 
own  staircase,  to  be  bowed  at  by  any  one  who  chooses  to 
come.    That's  all  done — for  one  year,  at  any  rate." 

"  You  know  you  like  it." 

"No,  Mary,  that's  just  what  I  don't  know.     I  don't 


MRS.  GRESHAM    AND   MIS8   DUNSTABLE, 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  415 

know  whether  I  Uke  it  or  not.  Sometimes,  when  the  spirit 
of  that  dearest  of  all  women,  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  is  upon 
me,  I  think  that  I  do  like  it ;  but  then  again,  when  other 
spirits  are  on  me,  I  think  that  I  don't." 

"And  who  are  the  owners  of  the  other  spirits?" 

"•Oh !  you  are  one,  of  course.  But  you  are  a  weak  little 
thing,  by  no  means  able  to  contend  with  such  a  Samson  as 
Mrs.  Harold.  And  then  you  are  a  little  given  to  wicked- 
ness yourself,  you  know.  You've  learned  to  like  London 
well  enough  since  you  sat  down  to  the  table  of  Dives. 
Your  uncle — he's  the  real  impracticable,  unapproachable 
Lazarus,  who  declares  he  can't  come  down  because  of  the 
big  gulf.  I  wonder  how  he'd  behave  if  somebody  left  him 
ten  thousand  a  year  ?" 

"  Uncommonly  well,  I  am  sure." 

"  Oh  yes,  he  is  a  Lazarus  now,  so  of  course  we  are  bound 
to  speak  well  of  him ;  but  I  should  like  to  see  him  tried. 
I  don't  doubt  but  what  he'd  have  a  house  in  Belgrave 
Square,  and  become  noted  for  his  little  dinners  before  the 
first  year  of  his  trial  was  over." 

"Well,  and  why  not?  You  would  not  wislihim  to  bo 
an  anchorite  ?" 

"  I  am  told  that  he  is  going  to  try  his  luck — not  with  ten 
thousand  a  year,  but  witk  one  or  two." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Jane  tells  me  that  they  all  say  at  Greshamsbury  that  he 
is  going  to  marry  Lady  Scatcherd."  Now  Lady  Scatcherd 
was  a  widow  living  in  those  parts ;  an  excellent  woman, 
but  one  not  formed  by  nature  to  grace  society  of  the  high- 
est order. 

"  What !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gresham,  rising  up  from  her 
chair,  while  her  eyes  flashed  with  anger  at  such  a  rumor. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  don't  eat  me.  I  don't  say  it  is  so ;  I 
only  say  that  Jane  said  so." 

"  Then  you  ought  to  send  Jane  out  of  the  house." 

"  You  may  be  sure  of  this,  my  dear — Jane  would  not 
have  told  me  if  somebody  had  not  told  her." 

"  And  you  believed  it  ?" 

"  I  have  said  nothing  about  that." 

"  But  you  look  as  if  you  had  believed  it." 

"  Do  I  ?  Let  us  see  what  sort  of  a  look  it  is,  this  look 
of  faith."  And  Miss  Dunstable  got  up  and  went  to  the 
glass  over  the  fireplace.     "  But,  Mary,  my  dear,  ain't  you 


416  FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

old  enough  to  know  that  you  should  not  credit  people's 
looks  ?  You  should  believe  nothing  nowadays ;  and  I  did 
not  believe  the  story  about  poor  Lady  Scatcherd.  I  know 
the  doctor  well  enough  to  be  sure  that  he  is  not  a  marry- 
ing man." 

"  What  a  nasty,  hackneyed,  false  phrase  that  is — that  of 
a  marrying  man !  It  sounds  as  though  some  men  were  in 
the  habit  of  getting  married  three  or  four  times  a  month." 

"  It  means  a  great  deal  all  the  same.  One  can  tell  very 
soon  whether  a  man  is  likely  to  marry  or  no." 

"  And  can  one  tell  the  same  of  a  woman  ?" 

"The  thing  is  so  different.  All  unmarried  women  are 
necessarily  in  the  market ;  but  if  they  behave  themselves 
properly  they  make  no  signs.  Now  there  was  Griselda 
Grantly ;  of  course  she  intended  to  get  herself  a  husband, 
and  a  very  grand  one  she  has  got ;  but  she  always  looked 
as  though  butter  would  not  melt  in  her  mouth.  It  would 
have  been  very  wrong  to  call  her  a  marrying  girl." 

"  Oh,  of  course  she  was,"  said  Mrs.  Gresham,  with  that 
sort  of  acrimony  which  one  pretty  young  woman  so  fre- 
quently expres&es  with  reference  to  another.  "  But  if  one 
could  always  tell  of  a  woman,  as  you  say  you  can  of  a  man, 
I  should  be  able  to  tell  of  you.  Now  I  wonder  whether 
you  are  a  marrying  woman.  I  have  never  been  able  to 
make  up  my  mind  yet." 

Miss  Dunstable  remained  silent  for  a  few  moments,  as 
though  she  were  at  first  minded  to  take  the  question  as 
being,  in  some  sort,  one  made  in  earnest ;  but  then  she  at- 
tempted to  laugh  it  off.  "  Well,  I  wonder  at  that,"  said 
she,  "  as  it  was  only  the  other  .day  I  told  you  how  many 
offers  I  had  refused." 

"  Yes,  but  you  did  not  tell  me  whether  any  had  been 
made  that  you  meant  to  accept." 

"  None  such  was  ever  made  to  me.  Talking  of  that,  I 
shall  never  forget  your  cousin,  the  Honorable  George." 

"  He  is  not  my  cousin." 

"  Well,  your  husband's.  It  would  not  be  fair  to  show  a 
man's  letters,  but  I  should  like  to  show  you  his." 

"  You  are  determined,  then,  to  remain  single  ?" 

"  I  didn't  say  that.  But  why  do  you  cross-question  me 
so?" 

"  Because  I  think  so  much  about  you.  I  am  afraid  that 
you  will  become  so  afraid  of  men's  motives  as  to  doubt 


FRAMLEY   PAESONAGE.  417 

that  any  one  can  be  honest.  And  yet  sometimes  I  think 
you  would  be  a  happier  woman  and  a  better  woman  if  you 
were  married." 

"To  such  a  one  as  the  Honorable  George,  for  instance?" 

"  No,  not  to  such  a  one  as  him ;  you  have  j^robably  pick- 
ed out  the  worst." 

"  Or  to  Mr.  Sowerby  ?" 

"  Well,  no,  not  to  Mr.  Sowerby  either.  I  would  not  have 
you  marjy  any  man  that  looked  to  you  for  your  money 
principally." 

"  And  how  is  it  possible  that  I  should  expect  any  one  to 
look  to  me  principally  for  any  thing  else  ?  You  don't  see 
my  difficulty,  my  dear.  If  I  had  only  five  hundred  a  year, 
I  might  come  across  some  decent  middle-aged  personage, 
like  myself,  who  would  like  me,  myself,  pretty  well,  and 
would  like  my  little  income — pretty  well  also.  He  would 
not  tell  me  any  violent  lie,  and  perhaps  no  lie  at  all.  I 
should  take  to  him  in  the  same  sort  of  way,  and  we  might 
do  very  well.  But  as  it  is,  how  is  it  possible  that  any  dis- 
interested person  should  learn  to  like  me?  How  could 
such  a  man  set  about  it  ?  If  a  sheep  have  two  heads,  is 
not  the  fact  of  the  two  heads  the  first,  and,  indeed,  only 
thing  which  the  world  regards  in  that  sheep?  Must  it 
not  be  as  a  matter  of  course  ?  I  am  a  sheep  with  two 
heads.  All  this  money  which  my  father  put  together,  and 
which  has  been  growing  since  like  grass  under  May  showers, 
has  turned  me  into  an  abortion.  I  am  not  the  giantess  eight 
feet  high,  or  the  dwarf  that  stands  in  the  man's  hand — " 

"  Or  the  two-headed  sheep — " 

"  But  I  am  the  unmarried  woman  with — half  a  dozen 
millions  of  money,  as  I  believe  some  people  think.  Under 
such  circumstances,  have  I  a  fair  chance  of  getting  my  own 
sweet  bit  of  grass  to  nibble,  like  any  ordinary  animal  with 
one  head  ?  I  never  was  very  beautiful,  and  I  am  not  more 
so  now  than  I  was  fifteen  years  ago." 

"I  am  quite  sure  it  is  not  that  which  hinders  it.  You 
w^ould  not  call  yourself  plain,  and  even  plain  women  are 
married  every  day,  and  ^re  loved,  too,  as  well  as  pretty 
women." 

"  Are  they  ?  Well,  we  won't  say  more  about  that ;  but 
I  don't  expect  a  great  many  lovers  on  account  of  my  beau- 
ty.    If  ever  you  hear*  of  such  a  one,  mind  you  tell  me." 

It  was  almost  on  Mrs.  Gresham's  tongue  to  say  that  she 
S2 


418  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

did  know  of  one  such,  meaning  her  uncle.  But,  in  truth, 
she  did  not  know  any  such  thing ;  nor  could  she  boast  to 
herself  that  she  had  good  grounds  for  feeling  that  it  was 
so— certainly  none  sufficient  to  justify  her  in  speaking  of 
it.  Her  uncle  had  said  no  word  to  her  on  the  matter,  and 
had  been  confused  and  embarrassed  when  the  idea  of  such 
a  marriage  was  hinted  to  him.  But,  nevertheless,  Mrs. 
Gresham  did  think  that  each  of  these  two  was  well  incHned 
to  love  the  other,  and  that  they  would  be  happier  together 
than  they  would  be  single.  The  difficulty,  however,  was 
very  great,  for  the  doctor  would  be  terribly  afraid  of  being 
thought  covetous  in  regard  to  Miss  Dunstable's  money.; 
and  it  would  hardly  be  expected  that  she  should  be  in- 
duced to  make  the  first  overture  to  the  doctor. 

"  My  uncle  would  be  the  only  man  that  I  can  think  of 
that  would  be  at  all  fit  for  you,"  said  Mrs.  Gresham,  boldly. 

"  What,  and  rob  poor  Lady  Scatcherd  !"  said  Miss  Dun- 
stable. 

"  Oh,  very  well.  If  you  choose  to  make  a  joke  of  his 
name  in  that  way,  I  have  done." 

"  Why,  God  bless  the  girl !  what  does  she  want  mo  to 
say?  And  as  for  joking,  surely  that  is  innocent  enough. 
You're  as  tender  about  the  doctor  as  though  he  were  a  girl 
of  seventeen." 

"It's  not  about  him;  but  it's  such  a  shame  to  laugh  at 
poor  dear  Lady  Scatcherd.  If  she  were  to  hear  it  she'd 
lose  all  comfort  in  having  my  uncle  near  her." 

"  And  I'm  to  marry  him,  so  that  she  may  be  safe  with 
her  friend !" 

"  Very  well ;  I  have  done."  And  Mrs.  Gresham,  who 
had  already  got  up  from  her  seat,  employed  herself  very 
sedulously  in  arranging  flowers  which  had  been  brought  in 
for  the  drawing-room  tables.  Thus  they  remained  silent 
for  a  minute  or  two,  during  which  she  began  to  reflect  that, 
after  all,  it  might  probably  be  thought  that  she  also  was 
endeavoring  to  catch  the  great  heiress  for  her  uncle. 

"And  now  you  are  angry  with  me,"  said  Miss  Dun- 
stable. 

"  No,  I  am  not." 

"  Oh,  but  you  are.  Do  you  think  I'm  such  a  fool  as  not 
to  see  when  a  person's  vexed  ?  You  wouldn't  have  twitch- 
ed that  geranium's  head  ofl*if  you'd  been  in  a  proper  fiame 
of  mind." 


PRAMLEY  PARSONAGE.  419 

"I  don't  like  that  joke  about  Lady  Scatcherd." 

"  And  is  that  all,  Mary  ?  Now  do  try  and  be  true,  if 
you  can.  You  remember  the  bishop?  Magna  est  veri- 
tasP 

"  The  fact  is,  you've  got  into  such  a  way  of  being  sharp, 
and  saying  sharp  things  among  your  friends  up  in  London, 
that  you  can  hardly  answer  a  person  without  it." 

"  Can't  I  ?  Dear,  dear,  what  a  Mentor  you  are,  Mary  ! 
No  poor  lad  that  ever  ran  up  from  Oxford  for  a  spree  in 
town  got  so  lectured  for  his  dissipation  and  iniquities  as  I 
do.  Well,  I  beg  Dr.  Thome's  pardon,  and  Lady  Scatch- 
erd's,  and  I  won't  be  sharp  any  more;  and  Lwill — let  me 
see,  what  w  as  it  I  was  to  do  ?  Marry  him  myself,  I  be- 
lieve ;  was  not  that  it  ?" 

"  No ;  you're  not  half  good  enough  for  him." 

"  I  know  that.  I'm  quite  sure  of  that.  Though  I  am  so 
sharp,  I'm  very  humble.  You  can't  accuse  me  of  putting 
any  very  great  value  on  myself." 

"Perhaps  not  as  much  as  you  ought  to  do — on  your- 
self" 

"  Now  what  do  you  mean,  Mary  ?  I  won't  be  bullied 
and  teased,  and  have  innuendoes  thrown  out  at  me,  because 
you've  got  something  on  your  mind,  and  don't  quite  dare 
to  speak  it  out.     If  you  have  got  any  thing  to  say,  say  it."- 

But  Mrs.  Greshani  did  not  choose  to  say  it  at  that  mo- 
ment. She  held  her  peace,  and  went  on  arranging  her 
flowers,  now  with  a  more  satisfied  air,  and  without  destruc- 
tion to  the  geraniums.  And  when  she  had  grouped  her 
bunches  properly,  she  carried  the  jar  from  one  part  of  the 
room  to  another,  backward  and  forward,  trying  the  effect 
of  the  colors,  as  though  her  mind  was  quite  intent  "upon  her 
flowers,  and  was  for  the  moment  wholly  unoccupied  with 
any  other  subject. 

But  Miss  Dunstable  was  not  the  woman  to  put  up  with 
this.  She  sat  silent  in  her  place  while  her  friend  made  one 
or  two  turns  about  the  ro'om,  and  then  "she  got  up  from 
her  seat  also.  "  Mary,"  she  said,  "  give  over  about  those 
wretched  bits  of  green  branches,  and  leave  the  jars  where 
they  are.     You're  trying  to  fidget  me  into  a  passion." 

"  Am  I  ?"  said  Mrs.  Gresham,  standing  opposite  to  a  big 
bowl,  and  putting  her  head  a  little  on  one  side,  as  though 
she  could  better  look  at  her  handiwork  in  that  position. 

"  You  know  you  are,  and  it's  all  because  you  lack  cour- 


420  FRAMLEY   PAESONAGE. 

age  to  speak  out.  You  didn't  begin  at  me  in  this  way  for 
nothing." 

"  I  do  lack  courage.  That's  just  it,"  said  Mrs.Gresham, 
still  giving  a  twist  here  and  a  set  there  to  some  of  the 
small  sprigs  which  constituted  the  background  of  her  bou- 
quet. "  I  do  lack  courage — to  have  ill  motives  imputed  to 
me.  I  was  thinking  of  saying  something,  and  I  am  afraid, 
and  therefore  I  will  not  say  it.  And  now,  if  you  like,  I 
will  be  ready  to  take  you  out  in  ten  minutes." 

But  Miss  Dunstable  was  not  going  to  be  put  off  in  this 
way.  And,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  must  admit  that  her  friend 
Mrs.  Gresham  was  not  using  her  altogether  well.  She 
should  either  have  held  her  peace  on  the  matter  altogether, 
which  would  probably  have  been  her  wiser  course,  or  she 
should  have  declared  her  own  ideas  boldly,  feeling  secure 
in  her  own  conscience  as  to  her  own  motives.  "  I  shall  not 
stir  from  this  room,"  said  Miss  Dunstable,  "  till  I  have  had 
this  matter  out  with  you.  And  as  for  imputations — my 
imputing  bad  motives  to  you — I  don't  know  how  far  you 
may  be  joking,  and  saying  what  you  call  sharp  things  to 
me,  but  you  have  no  right  to  think  that  I  should  think  evil 
of  you.  If  you  really  do  think  so,  it  is  treason  to  the  love 
I  have  for  you.  If  I  thought  that  you  thought  so,  I  could 
not  remain  in  the  house  wit?i  you.  What !  you  are  not 
able  to  know  the  diflference  which  one  makes  between  one's 
real  friends  and  one's  mock  friends !  I  don't  believe  it  of 
you,  and  I  know  you  are  only  striving  to  bully  me."  And 
Miss  Dunstable  now  took  her  turn  of  walking  up  and  down 
the  room. 

"  Well,  she  sha'n't  be  bullied,"  said  Mrs.  Gresham,  leav- 
ing her  flowers,  and  putting  her  arm  round  her  friend's 
waist — "  at  least  not  here,  in  this  house,  although  she  is 
sometimes  such  a  bully  herself" 

"  Mary,  you  have  gone  too  far  about  this  to  go  back. 
Tell  me  what  it  was  that  was  on  your  mind,  and,  as  far  as 
it  concerns  me,  T  will  answer  you  honestly." 

Mrs.  Gresham  now  began  to  repent  that  she  had  made 
her  little  attempt.  That  uttering  of  hints  in  a  half-joking 
way  was  all  very  well,  and  might  possibly  bring  about  the 
desired  result  without  the  necessity  of  any  formal  sugges- 
tion on  her  part ;  but  now  she  was  so  brought  to  book  that 
she  must  say  something  formal.  She  must  commit  herself 
to  the  expression  of  her  own  wishes,  and  to  an  expression 


FRAMLEY   PAESONAGE.  421 

also  of  an  opinion  as  to  what  had  been  the  wishes  of  her 
friend,  and  this  she  must  do  without  being  able  to  say  any 
thing  as  to  the  wishes  of  that  third  person. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  I  suppose  you  know  what  I  meant." 

"  I  suppose  I  did,"  said  Miss  Dunstable ;  "  but  it  is  not 
at  all  the  less  necessary  that  you  should  say  it  out.  I  am 
not  to  commit  myself  by  my  interpretation  of  your  thoughts, 
Avhile  you  remain  perfectly  secure  in  having  only  hinted 
your  own.  I  hate  hints,  as  I  do — the  mischief.  I  go  in 
for  the  bishop's  doctrine — Magna  est  veritasP 

"•Well,  I  don't  know^"  said  Mrs.  Gresham. 

"  Ah !  but  I  do,"  said  Miss  Dunstable.  "  And  therefore 
go  on,  or  forever  hold  your  peace." 

"That's  just  it,"  said  Mrs.  Gresham. 

"  What's  just  it  ?"  said  Miss  Dunstable. 

"  The  quotation  out  of  the  Prayer-book  which  you  finish- 
ed just  now.  *  If  any  of  you  know  cause  or  just  impediment 
why  these  two  persons  should  not  be  joined  together  in 
holy  matrimony,  ye  are  to  declare  it.  This  is  the  first  tjme 
of  asking.'     Do  you  know  any  cause,  Miss  Dunstable  ?" 

•"  Do  you  know  any,  Mrs.  Gresham  ?" 

"  None,  on  my  honor !"  said  the  younger  lady,  putting 
her  hand  upon  her  breast. 

"Ah!  but  do  you  not?"  and  Miss  Dunstable  caught 
hold  of  her  arm,  and  spoke  almost  abruptly  in  her  energy. 

"No,  certainly  not.  What  impediment?  If  I  did,  I 
should  not  have  broached  the  subject/  I  declare  I  think 
you  would  both  be  very  happy  together.  Of  course,  there 
is  one  impediment ;  we  all  know  that.  That  must  be  your 
look  out." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?     What  impediment  ?" 

"  Your  own  money." 

"Psha!  Did  you  find  that  an  impediment  in  marrying 
Frank  Gresham  ?" 

"  Ah !  the  matter  was  so  different  there.  He  had  much 
more  to  give  than  I  had,  when  all  was  counted;  Ajid  I 
had  no  money  when  we^ — when  we  were  first  engaged." 
And  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes  as  she  thought  of  the  cir- 
cumstances of  her  early  love,  all  of  which  have  been  nar- 
rated in  the  county  chronicles  of  Barsetshire,  and  may  now 
be  read  by  men  and  women  interested  therein. 

"  Yes,  yours  was  a  love  match.  I  declare,  Mary,  I  often 
think  that  you  are  the  happiest  woman  of  whom  I  ever 


422  PKAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

heard — to  have  it  all  to  give,  when  you  were  so  sure  that 
you  Avere  loved  while  you  yet  had  nothing." 

"  Yes,  I  was  sure,"  and  she  wiped  the  sweet  tears  from 
her  eyes  as  she  remembered  a  certain  day  when  a  certain 
youth  had  come  to  her,  claiming  all  kinds  of  privileges  in  a 
very  determined  manner.  She  had  been  no  heiress  then. 
"Yes,  I  was  sure.  But  now  with  you,  dear,  you  can't 
make  yourself  poor  again.     If  you  can  trust  no  one — " 

"I  can.  I  can  trust  him.  As  regards  that,  I  do  trust 
him  altogether.  .  But  how  can  I  tell  that  he  would  care 
forme?" 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  he  likes  you  ?" 

"  All !  yes  ;  and  so  he  does  Lady  Scatcherd." 

"  Miss  Dunstable !" 

"  And  why  not  Lady  Scatcherd  as  well  as  me  ?  We  are 
of  the  same  kind — come  from  the  same  class." 

"  Not  quite  that,  I  think." 

"  Yes,  from  the  same  class,  only  I  have  managed  to  poke 
myself  up  among  dukes  and  duchesses,  whereas  she  has 
been  content  to  remain  where  God  placed  her.  Where  I 
beat  her  in  art,  she  beats  me  in  nature." 

"  You  know  you  are  talking  nonsense." 

"  I  think  that  we  are  both  doing  that — absolute  nonsense, 
such  as  school-girls  of  eighteen  talk  to  each  other.  But 
there  is  a  relief  in  it,  is  there  not  ?  It  would  be  a  terrible 
cur  e  to  have  to  talk  sense  always.  Well,  that's  done ;  and 
now  let  us  go  out.^ 

Mrs.  Gresham  was  sure  after  this  that  Miss  Dunstable 
would  be  a  consenting  party  to  the  little  arrangement 
which  she  contemplated.  But  of  that  she  had  felt  but  lit- 
tle doubt  for  some  considerable  time  past.  The  difficulty 
lay  on  the  other  side,  and  all  that  she  had  as  yet  done  was 
to  convince  herself  that  she  would  be  safe  in  assuring  her 
uncle  of  success  if  he  could  be  induced  to  take  the  enter- 
prise in  hand.  He  was  to  come  to  Boxall  Hill  that  even- 
ing, jmd  to  remain  there  for  a  day  or  two.  If  any  thing 
could  be  done  in  the  matter,  now  wcmld  be  the  time  for 
doing  it.     So  at  least  thought  Mrs.  Gresham. 

The  doctor  did  come,  and  did  remain  for  the  allotted 
time  at  Boxall  Hill;  but  when  he  left  Mrs. Gresham  had 
not  been  successful.  Indeed,  he  did  not  seem  to  enjoy  his 
visit  as  was  usual  with  him,  and  there  was  very  little  of 
that  pleasant  friendly  intercourse  which  for  some  time  past 


FRAMLEY   PARSON AOE.  423 

had  been  customary  between  him  and  Miss  Dunstable. 
There  were  no  passages  of  arms  between  them ;  no  abuse 
from  the  doctor  against  the  lady's  London  gayety ;  no  rail- 
lery from  the  lady  as  to  the  doctor's  country  habits.  They 
were  very  courteous  to  each  other,  and,  as  Mrs.  Gresham 
thought,  too  civil  by  half;  nor,  as  far  as  she  could  see,  did 
they  evev  remain  alone  in  each  other's  company  for  five 
minutes  at  a  time  during  the  whole  period  of  the  doctor's 
visit.  What,  thought  Mrs.  Gresham  to  herself,  what  if  she 
had  set  these  two  friends  at  variance  with  each  other,  in- 
stead of  binding  them  together  in  the  closest  and  most  dur- 
able friendship ! 

But  still  she  had  an  idea  that,  as  she  had  begun  to  play 
this  game,  she  must  play  it  out.  She  felt  conscious  that 
what  she  had  done  must  do  evil  unless  she  could  so  carry 
it  on  as  to  make  it  result  in  good.  Indeed,  unless  she  could 
so  manage,  she  would  have  done  a  manifest  injury  to  Miss 
Dunstable  in  forcing  her  to  declare  her  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings.. She  had  already  spoken  to  her  uncle  in  London,  and, 
though  he  had  said  nothing  to  show  that  he  approved  of 
her  i^lau,  neither  had  he  said  any  thing  to  show  that  he  dis- 
approved it;  therefore  she  had  hoped  through  the  whole 
of  those  three  days  that  he  w^ould  make  some  sign — at  any 
rate  to  her;  that  he  would  in  some  way  declare  what  were 
his  ow^n  thoughts  on  this  matter.  But  the  morning  of  his 
departure  came,  and  he  had  declared  nothing, 

"Uncle,"  she  said,  in  the  last  five  minutes  of  his  sojourn 
there,  after  he  had  already  taken  leave  of  Miss  Dunstable 
and  shaken  hands  with  Mrs.  Gresham,  "  have  you  ever 
thought  of  what  I  said  to  you  up  in  London  ?" 

"  Yes,  Mary,  of  course  I  haye  thought  about  it.  Sucli 
an  idea  as  that,  Avhen  put  into  a  man's  head,  will  make  it- 
self thought  about." 

"Well,  and  what  iiext?  Do  talk  to  me  about  it.  Do 
not  be  so  hard  and  unlike  yourself." 

."  I  have  very  little  to  say  about  it." 

"  I  can  tell  you  this  for  certain,  you  mnv  if  you  like." 

"Mary!  Mary!" 

"I  wo.uld  not  say  so  if  I  were  not  sure  that  I  should  not 
lead  you  into  trouble." 

"  You  are  foolish  in  wishing  this,  my  dear— ^foolish  in 
trying  to  tempt  an  old  man  into  a  folly." 

"  Not  foolisli  if  I  know  that  it  will  make  you  both  hap- 
pier." 


424  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

He  made  her  no  farther  reply,  but  stooping  down  that 
she  might  kiss  him,  as  was  his  wont,  went  his  way,  leav- 
ing her  almost  miserable  in  the  thought  that  she  had  troub- 
led all  these  waters  to  no  purpose.  What  would  Miss 
Dunstable  think  of  her  ?  But  on  that  afternoon  Miss  Dun- 
stable seemed  to  be  as  happy  and  even-tempered  as  ever. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

now   TO   AVRITE  A   LOVE-LETTER. 

Dr.  TriORNE,  in  the  few  words  which  he  spoke  to  his 
niece  before  he  left  Boxall  Hill,  had  called  himself  an  old 
man  ;  but  he  was  as  yet  on  the  right  side  of  sixty  by  five 
good  years,  and  bore  about  with  him  less  of  the  marks  of 
age  than  most  men  of  fifty-five  do  bear.  One  would  have 
said,  in  looking  at  him,  that  there  was  no  reason  why  he 
should  not  marry  if  he  found  that  such  a  step  seemed  good 
to  him ;  and,  looking  at  the  age  of  the  proposed  bride, 
there  was  nothing  unsuitable  in  that  respect. 

But,  nevertheless,  he  felt  almost  ashamed  of  himself  in 
that  he  allowed  himself  even  to  think  of  the  proposition 
which  his  niece  had  made.  He  mounted  his  horse  that  day 
at  Boxall  Hill — for  he  made  all  his  journeys  about  the 
county  on  horseback — and  rode  slowly  home  to  Greshams- 
bury,  thinking  not  so  much  of  the  suggested  marriage  as 
of  his  own  folly  in  thinking  of  it.  How  could  he  be  such 
an  ass  at  his  time  of  life  as  to  allow  the  even  course  of  his 
way  to  be  disturbed  by  any  such  idea?  Of  course  he 
could  not  propose  to  himself  such  a  wife  as  Miss  Dunstable 
without  having  some  thoughts  as  to  her  wealth,  and  it  had 
been  the  pride  of  his  life  so  to  live  that  the  world  might 
know  that  he  was  indifferent  about  money.  His  profession 
Avas  all  in  all  to  him — the  air  which  he  breathed  as  w^ell  as 
the  bread  which  he  ate ;  and  how  could  he  follow  his  pro- 
fession if  he  made  such  a  marriage  as  this?  She  would 
expect  him  to  go  to  London  with  her ;  and  what  would  he 
become,  dangling  at  her  heels  there,  known  only  to  the 
Avorld  as  the  husband  of  the  richest  woman  in  the  town  ? 
The  kind  of  life  was  one  which  would  be  unsuitable  to 
him ;  and  yet,  as  he  rode  home,  he  could  not  resolve  to  rid 
himself  of  the  idea.  He  went  on  thinking  of  it,  though  he 
still  continued  to  condemn  himself  for  keeping  it  in  his 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  425 

thoughts.  That  night,  at  home,  he  would  make  up  his 
mind,  so  he  declared  to  himself,  and  would  then  write  to 
his  niece  begging  her  to  drop  the  subject.  Having  so  far 
come  to  a  resolution,  he  went  on  meditating  what  course 
of  life  it  might  be  well  for  him  to  pursue  if  he  and  Miss 
Dunstable  should,  after  all,  become  man  and  wife. 

There  were  two  ladies  whom  it  behooved  him  to  see  on 
the  day  of  his  arrival  —  whom,  indeed,  he  generally  saw 
every  day  except  when  absent  from  Greshamsbury.  The 
first  of  these — first  in  the  general  consideration  of  the  peo- 
ple of  the  place — was  the  wife  of  the  squire.  Lady  Arabella 
Gresham,  a  very  old  patient  of  the  doctor's.  Her  it  was 
his  custom  to  visit  early  in  the  afternoon;  and  then,  if  he 
were  able  to  escape  the  squire's  daily  invitation  to  dinner, 
he  customarily  went  to  the  other.  Lady  Scatcherd,  when 
the  rapid  meal  in  his  own  house  was  over.  Such,  at  least, 
was  his  summer  practice. 

"  Well,  doctor,  how  are  they  at  Boxall  Hill  ?"  said  the 
squire,  waylaying  him  on  the  gravel  sweep  before  the  door. 
The  squire  was  very  hard  set  for  occupation  in  these  sum- 
mer months. 

"  Quite  well,  I  belicTe." 

"  I  don't  know  what's  come  to  Frank.  I  think  he  hates 
this  place  now.    He's  full  of  the  election,  I  suppose." 

"  Oh  yes ;.  he  told  me  to  say  he  should  be  over  here 
soon.  Of  course  there'll  be  no  contest,  so  he  need  not 
trouble  himself." 

"Happy  dog — isn't  he,  doctor  ? — to  have  it  all  before  him 
instead  of  behind  him.  Well,  well,  he's  as  good  a  lad  as 
ever  lived — as  ever  lived.  And,  let  me  see — Mary's  time — " 
And  then  there  were  a  few  very  important  wot*ds  spoken 
on  that  subject. 

"  I'll  just  step  up  to  Lady  Arabella  now,"  said  the  doc- 
tor. 

"  She's  as  fretful  as  possible,"  said  the  squire.  "  I've  just 
left  her." 

"  Nothing  special  the  matter,  I  hope  ?" 

"No,  I  think  not;  nothing  in  your  way,  that  is;  only 
specially  cross,  which  always  comes  in  my  way.  You'll 
stop  and  dine  to-day,  of  course  ?" 

"  Not  to-day,  squire." 

"  Nonsense ;  you  will.  I  have  been  quite  counting  on 
you.    I  have  a  particular  reason  for  wanting  to  have  you 


42G  FBAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

to-day— ^a  most  particular  reason."  But  the  squire  always 
had  his  particular  reasons. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,  but  it  is  impossible  to-day.  I  shall  have 
a  letter  to  write  that  I  must  sit  down  to  seriously.  Shall 
I  see  you  when  I  come  down  from  her  ladyship  ?" 

The  squire  turned  away  sulkily,  almost  without  answer- 
ing him,  for  he  now  had  no  prospect  of  any  alleviation  to 
the  tedium  of  the  evening ;  and  the  doctor  went  up  stairs 
to  his  patient. 

For  Lady  Arabella,  though  it  can  not  be  said  that  she 
was  ill,  was  always  a  patient.  It  must  not  be  supposed 
that  she  kept  her  bed  and  swallowed  daily  doses,  or  was 
prevented  from  taking  her  share  in  such  prosy  gayeties  as 
came  from  time  to  time  in  the  way  of  her  prosy  life;  but 
it  suited  her  turn  of  mind  to  be  an  invalid  and  to  have  a 
doctor ;  and  as  the  doctor  whom  her  good  fates  had  placed 
at  her  elbow  thoroughly  understood  her  case,  no  great  harm 
was  done. 

"  It  frets  me  dreadfully  that  I  can  not  get  to  see  Mary," 
Lady  Arabella  said,  as  soon  as  the  first  ordinary  question 
as  to  her  ailments  had  been  asked  and  answered. 

"  She's  quite  w^ell,  and  will  be  over  to  see  you  before 
long." 

"  Now  I  beg  that  she  won't.  She  never  thinks  of  com- 
ing when  there  can  be  no  possible  objection,  and  traveling, 
at  the  present  moment,  would  be — "  Whereupon  the  Lady 
Arabella  shook  her  head  very  gravely.  "  Only  think  of 
the  importance  of  it,  doctor,"  she  said.  "  Remember  the 
enormous  stake  there  is  to  be  considered." 

"  It  would  not  do  her  a  ha'porth  of  harm  if  the  stake 
were  twice  as  large." 

"  Nonsense,  doctor,  don't  tell  me ;  as  if  I  didn't  know 
myself.  I  was  very  much  against  her  going  to  London 
this  spring,  but  of  course  what  I  said  was  overruled.  It 
always  is.  I  do  believe  Mr.  Gresham  went  over  to  Boxall 
Hill  on  purpose  to  induce  her  to  go.  But  what  does  he 
care  ?  He's  fond  of  Frank ;  but  he  never  thinks  of  looking 
beyond  the  present  day.  He  never  did,  as  you  know  well 
enough,  doctor." 

"  The  trip  did  her  all  the  good  in  the  world,"  said  Dr. 
Thorne,  preferring  any  thing  to  a  conversation  respecting 
the  squire's  sins. 

"I  very  well  remember  that  when  I  was  in  that  way  it 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  427 

wasn't  thought  that  such  trips  would  do  me  any  goo^l. 
But  perhaps  things  are  altered  since  then." 

"  Yes,  they  are^'  said  the  doctor.  "  "We  don't  interfere 
so  much  nowadays." 

"  I  know  I  never  asked  for  such  amusements  when  so 
much  depended  on  quietness.  I  remember  before  Frank 
was  born  —  and,  indeed,  when  all  of  them  were  born  — 
But,  as  you  say,  things  were  different  then ;  and  I  can  eas- 
ily believe  that  Mary  is  a  person  quite  determined  to  have 
her  own  way." 

"  Why,  Lady  Arabella,  she  would  have  staid  at  home 
without  wishing  to  stir  if  Frank  had  done  so  much  as  hold 
up  his  little  finger." 

"  So  did  I  always.  If  Mr.  Gresham.  made  the  slightest 
hint,  I  gave  way.  But  I  really  don't  see  what  one  gets  in 
return  for  such  implicit  obedience.  Now  this  year,  doc- 
tor, of  course  I  should  have  liked  to  have  been  up  in  Lon- 
don for  a  week  or  two.  You  seemed  to  think  yourself 
that  I  might  as  well  see  Sir  Omicron." 

"There  could  be  no  possible  objection,  I  said." 

"  Well,  no ;  exactly ;  and  as  Mr.  Gresham  knew  I  wished 
it,  I  think  he  might  as  well  have  offered  it.  I  suppose 
there  can  be  no  reason  now  about  money." 

"But  I  understood  that  Mary  specially  asked  you  and 
Augusta?" 

"  Yes,  Mary  was  very  good.  She  did  ask  me.  But  I 
know  very  well  that  Mary  wants  all  the  room  she  has  got 
in  London.  The  house  is  not  at  all  too  large  for  herself. 
And,  for  the  matter  of  that,  my  sister,  the  countess,  was 
very  anxious  that  I  should  be  with  her.  But  one  does  like 
to  be  independent  if  one  can,  and  for  one  fortnight  I  do 
think  that  Mr.  Gresham  might  have  managed  it.  When  I 
knew  that  he  was  so  dreadfully  out.  at  elbows  I  never 
troubled  him  about  it,  though,  goodness  knows,  all  that 
was  never  my  fault." 

"  The  squire  hates  London.  A  fortnight  there  in  warm 
weather  would  nearly  be  the  death  of  him." 

"  He  might,  at  any  rate,  have  paid  me  the  compliment 
of  asking  me.  The  chances  are  ten  to  one  I  should  not 
have  gone.  It  is  that  indifference  that  cuts  me  so.  He 
was  here  just  now,  and,  would  you  believe  it — " 

But  the  doctor  was  determined  to  avoid  farther  com- 
plaint for  the  present  day.     *'I  wonder  what  you  v.ould 


428  FEAMLEY   PAKSONAGE. 

feel,  Lady  Arabella,  if  the  squire  were  to  take  it  into  his 
head  to  go  away  and  amuse  himself,  leaving  you  at  home. 
There  are  worse  men  than  Mr.  Gresham,  if  you  will  believe 
me."  All  this  was  an  allusion  to  Earl  de  Courcy,  her  lady- 
ship's brother,  as  Lady  Arabella  very  well  understood,  and 
the  argument  was  one  which  was  very  often  used  to  si- 
lence her. 

"  Upon  my  word,  then,  I  should  like  it  better  than  his 
hanging  about  here  doing  nothing  but  attend  to  those  nasty 
dogs.     I  really  sometimes  think  that  he  has  no  spirit  left." 

"  You  are  mistaken  there.  Lady  Arabella,"  said  the  doc- 
tor, rising  with  his  hat  in  his  hand  and  making  his  escape 
without  farther  parley. 

As  he  went  home  he  could  not  but  think  that  that  phase 
of  married  life  was  not  a  very  pleasant  one.  Mr.  Gresham 
and  his  wife  were  supposed  by  the  world  to  live  on  the 
best  of  terms.  They  always  inhabited  the  same  house, 
went  out  together  when  they  did  go  out,  always  sat  in 
their  respective  corners  in  the  family  pew,  and  in  their 
wildest  dreams  after  the  happiness  of  novelty  never  thought 
of  Sir  Cresswell  Cresswell.  In  some  respects — with  re- 
gard, for  instance,  to  the  continued  duration  of  their  joint 
domesticity  at  the  family  mansion  of  Greshamsbury,  they 
might  have  been  taken  for  a  pattern  couple.  But  yet,  as 
far  as  the  doctor  could  see,  they  did  not  seem  to  add  much 
to  the  happiness  of  each  other.  They  loved  each  other, 
doubtless,  and,  had  either  of  them  been  in  real  danger,  that 
danger  would  have  made  the  other  miserable ;  but  yet  it 
might  well  be  a  question  whether  either  would  not  be 
more  comfortable  without  the  other. 

The  doctor,  as  was  his  custom,  dined  at  five,  and  at  seven 
he  went  up  to  the  cottage  of  his  old  friend  Lady  Scatch- 
erd.  Lady  Scatcherd  was  not  a  refined  woman,  having  in 
her  early  days  been  a  laborer's  daughter,  and  having  then 
married  a  laborer.  But  her  husband  had  risen  in  the  world 
— as  has  been  told  in  those  chronicles  before  mentioned — 
and  his  widow  was  now  Lady  Scatcherd,  with  a  pretty 
cottage  and  a  good  jointure.  She  was  in  all  things  the 
very  opposite  to  Lady  Arabella  Gresham;  nevertheless, 
under  the  doctor's  auspices,  the  two  ladies  were  in  some 
measure  acquainted  with  each  other.  Of  her  married  life, 
also,  Dr.  Thorne  had  seen  something,  and  it  may  be  ques- 
tioned whether  the  memory  of  that  was  more  alluring  than 
the  reality  now  existing  at  Greshamsbury. 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  429 

Of  the  two  women  Dr.  Thorne  much  preferred  his  hum- 
bler friend,  and  to  her  he  made  his  visits,  not  in  the  guise 
of  a  doctor,  but  as  a  neighbor.  "  Well,  my  lady,"  he  said, 
as  he  sat  down  by  her  on  a  broad  garden-seat — all  the 
world  called  Lady  Scatcherd  "  my  lady" — "  and  how  do 
these  long  summer  days  agree  with  you  ?  Your  roses  are 
twice  better  out  than  any  I  see  up  at  the  big  house." 

"  You  may  well  call  them  long,  doctor.  They're  long 
enough,  surely." 

"  But  not  too  long.  Come,  now,  I  won't  have  you  com- 
plaining. You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  have  any 
thing  to  make  you  wretched  ?  You  had  better  not,  for  I 
won't  believe  you." 

"  Eh !  well ;  wretched !  I  don't  know  as  I'm  wretched. 
It'd  be  wicked  to  say  that,  and  I  with  such  comforts  about 
me." 

"  I  think  it  would,  almost."  The  doctor  did  not  say  this 
harshly,  but  in  a  soft,  friendly  tone,  and  pressing  her  hand 
gently  as  he  spoke. 

"  And  I  didn't  mean  to  be  wicked.  I'm  very  thankful 
for  every  thing — leastways  I  always  try  to  be.  But,  doc- 
tor, i£  is  so  lonely  like." 

"  Lonely !  not  more  lonely  than  I  am." 

"  Oh  yes,  you're  different.  You  can  go  every  wheres. 
But  what  can  a  lone  woman  do  ?  I'll  tell  you  Avhat,  doc- 
tor, I'd  give  it  all  up  to  have  Roger  back,  with  his  apron 
on  and  his  pick  in  his  hand.  How  well  I  mind  his  look 
when  he'd  come  home  o'  nights." 

"  And  yet  it  was  a  hard  life  you  had  then,  eh !  old  wom- 
an ?  It  would  be  better  for  you  to  be  thankful  for  what 
you've  got." 

"  I  am  thankful.  Didn't  I  tell  you  so  before  ?"  said  she, 
somewhat  crossly.  "  But  it's  a  sad  life,  this  living  alone. 
I  declares  I  envy  Hannah,  'cause  she's  got  Jemima  to  sit 
in  the  kitchen  Avith  her.  I  want  her  to  sit  with  me  some- 
times, but  she  won't." 

"  Ah !  but  you  shouldn't  ask  her.  It's  letting  yourself 
down." 

"  What  do  I  care  about  down  or  up  ?  It  makes  no  dif- 
ference, as  he's  gone.  If  he  had  lived  one  might  have 
cared  about  being  up,  as  you  call  it.  Eh!  deary,  I'll 
be  going  after  him  before  long,  and  it  will  be  no  matter 
then." 


430  FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

"  We  shall  all  be  going  after  him  sooner  or  later,  that's 
sure  enough." 

"  Eh !  dear,  that's  true,  surely.  "  It's  only  a  span  long,  as 
Parson  Oriel  tells  us  when  he  gets  romantic  in  his  sermons. 
But  it's  a  hard  thing,  doctor,  when  two  is  married,  as  they 
can't  have  their  span,  as  he  calls  it,  out  together.  Well,  I 
must  only  put  up  with  it,  I  suppose,  as  others  does.  Now 
you're  not  going,  doctor  ?  You'll  stop  and  have  a  dish  of 
tea  with  me.  You  never  see  such  cream  as  Hannah  has 
from  the  Alderney  cow.     Do'ey  now,  doctor  ?" 

But  the  doctor  had  his  letter  to  write,  and  would  not 
allow  himself  to  be  tempted  even  by  the  promise  of  Han- 
nah's cream.  So  he  went  his  way,  angering  Lady  Scatcli- 
erd  by  his  departure  as  he  had  before  angered  the  squire, 
and  thinking  as  he  went  which  was  most  unreasonable  in 
her  wretchedness,  his  friend  Lady  Arabella  or  his  friend 
Lady  Scatcherd.  The  former  was  always  complaining  of 
an  existing  husband  who  never  refused  her  any  moderate 
request,  and  the  other  passed  her  days  in  murmuring  at 
the  loss  of  a  dead  husband,  who  in  his  life  had  ever  been 
to  her  imperious  and  harsh,  and  had  sometimes  been  cruel 
and  unjust. 

The  doctor  had  his  letter  to  write,  but  even  yet  he  had 
not  quite  made  up  his  mind  what  ho  would  put  into  it ; 
indeed,  he  had  not  hitherto  resolved  to  whom  it  should  be 
written.  Looking  at  the  matter  as  he  had  endeavored  to 
look  at  it,  his  niece,  Mrs.  Gresham,  Avould  be  his  corre- 
spondent; but  if  he  brought  himself  to  take  this  jump  in 
the  dark,  in  that  case  he  would  address  himself  direct  to 
Miss  Dunstable. 

He  walked  home,  not  by  the  straightest  road,  but  taking 
a  considerable  curve  round  by  narrow  lanes,  and  through 
thick  flower-laden  hedges — very  thoughtful.  He  was  told 
that  she  wished  to  marry  him ;  and  was  he  to  think  only 
of  himself?  And  as  to  that  pride  of  his  about  money,  was 
it  in  truth  a  hearty,  manly  feeling,  or  was  it  a  false  pride, 
of  which  it  behooved  him  to  be  ashamed  as  it  did  of  many 
cognate  feelings  ?  If  he  acted  rightly  in  this  matter,  why 
should  he  be  afraid  of  the  thoughts  of  any  one  ?  A  life  of 
solitude  was  bitter  enough,  as  poor  Lady  Scatcherd  had 
complained.  But  then,  looking  at  Lady  Scatcherd,  and 
looking  also  at  his  other  near  neighbor,  his  friend  the  squire, 
there  Avas  little  thereabouts  to  lead  him  on  to  matrimonv. 


FKAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  431 

So  he  walked  home  slowly  through  the  lanes,  very  medi- 
tative, with  his  hands  behind  his  back. 

Nor  Avhen  he  got  home  was  he  much  more  inclined  to 
any  resolute  line  of  action.  He  might  have  drank  his  tea 
with  Lady  Scatcherd,  as  well  as  have  sat  there  in  his  own 
drawing-room  drinking  it  alone;  for  he  got  no  pen  and 
paper,  and  he  dawdled  over  his  teacup  with  the  utmost 
dilatoriness,  putting  ofl',  as  it  were,  the  evil  day.  To  only 
one  thing  was  he  fixed — to  this,  namely,  that  that  letter 
should  be  written  before  he  went  to  bed. 

Having  finished  his  tea,  which  did  not  take  place  till 
near  eleven,  he  went  down  stairs  to  an  untidy  little  room 
which  lay  behind  his  depot  of  medicines,  and  in  which  he 
was  wont  to  do  his  writing,  and  herein  he  did  at  last  set 
himself  down  to  hi«  work.  Even  at  that  moment  he  was 
in  doubt.  But  he  would  write  his  letter  to  Miss  Dun- 
stable, and  see  how  it  looked.  He  was  almost  determined 
not  to  send  it ;  so,  at  least,  he  said  to  himself;  but  he 
could  do  no  harm  by  writing  it.  So  he  did  write  itj  as 
follows : 

"  Greshamsbury,  June,  185-. 
"My  dear  Miss  Dunstable — " 

When  he  had  got  so  far,  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and 
looked  at  the  paper.  How  on  earth  was  he  to  find  words 
to  say  that  which  he  now  wished  to  have  said  ?  He  had 
never  written  such  a  letter  in  his  life,  or  any  thing  ap- 
proaching to  it,  and  now  found  himself  overwhelmed  with 
a  difticulty  of  which  he  had  not  previously  thought.  He 
spent  another  half  hour  in  looking  ^t  the  paper,  and  was 
at  last  nearly  deterred  by  this  new  difiiculty.  He  would 
use  the  simplest,  plainest  language,  he  said  to  himself  over 
and  over  again ;  but  it  is  not  always  easy  to  use  simple, 
plain  language — ^by  no  means  so  easy  as  to  mount  on  stilts, 
and  to  march  along  with  sesquipedalian  words,  with  pathos, 
spasms,  and  notes  of  interjection.  But  the  letter  did  at 
last  get  itself  written,  and  there  was  not  a  note  of  interjec- 
tion in  it. 

"My  dear  Miss  Dukstable, — I  think  it  right  to  confess  that  I 
should  not  be  now  ^vriting  this  letter  to  you  had  I  not  been  led  to  believe 
by  other  judgment  than  my  own  that  flie  proposition  which  I  am  going 
to  make  would  be  regarded  by  you  with  favor.  Without  such  other 
judgment  I  should,  I  own,  have  feared  that  the  great  disparity  between 
you  and  me  in  regard  to  money  would  have  given  to  such  a  proposition 


432  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

an  appearance  of  being  false  and  mercenary.  All  I  ask  of  you  now, 
with  confidence,  is  to  acquit  me  of  such  fault  as  that. 

"When  yoti  have  read  so  far  you  will  understand  what  I  mean.  We 
have  known  each  other  now  somewhat  intimately,  though  indeed  not 
very  long,  and  I  have  sometimes  fancied  that  you  were  almost  as  well 
pleased  to  be  with  me  as  I  have  been  to  be  with  you.  If  I  have  been 
wrong  in  this,  tell  me  so  simply,  and  I  will  endeavor  to  let  our  friend- 
ship run  on  as  though  this  letter  had  not  been  written.  But  if  I  have 
been  right,  and  if  it  be  possible  that  you  can  think  that  a  union  between 
us  will  make  us  both  happier  than  we  are  single,  I  will  plight  you  my 
word  and  troth  with  good  faith,  and  will  do  what  an  old  man  may  do  to 
make  the  burden  of  the  world  lie  light  upon  your  shoulders.  Looking 
at  my  age,  I  can  hardly  keep  myself  from  thinking  that  I  am  an  old 
fool ;  but  I  try  to  reconcile  myself  to  that  by  remembering  that  you 
yourself  are  no  longer  a  girl.  You  see  that  I  pay  you  no  compliments, 
and  that  you  need  expect  none  from  me. 

*'I  do  not  know  that  I  could  add  any  thing  to  the  truth  of  this  if  I 
were  to  write  three  times  as  much.  All  that  is  necessary  is  that  you 
should  know  what  I  mean.  If  you  do  not  believe  me  to  be  true  and 
honest  already,  nothing  that  I  can  write  will  make  you  believe  it. 

"God  bless  you.  I  know  you  will  not  keep  me  long  in  suspense  for 
an  answer.  Affectionately  your  friend,  Thomas  Thorne." 

When  he  had  finished,  he  meditated  again  for  another 
half  hour  whether  it  would  not  be  right  that  he  should  add 
something  about  her  money.  Would  it  not  be  well  for 
him  to  tell  her — it  might  be  said  in  a  postscript — that  with 
regard  to  all  her  w^ealth  she  would  be  free  to  do  what  she 
chose  ?  At  any  rate,  he  owed  no  debts  for  her  to  pay,  and 
would  still  have  his  own  income,  sufficient  for  his  own  pur- 
poses. But  about  one  o'clock  he  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  it  would  be  better  to  leave  the  matter  alone.  If  she 
cared  for  him,  and  could"  trust  him,  and  was  worthy  also 
that  he  should  trust  her,  no  omission  of  such  a  statement 
would  deter  her  from  coming  to  him ;  and  if  there  were  no 
such  trust,  it  would  not  be  created  by  any  such  assurance 
on  his  part.  So  he  read  the  letter  over  twice,  sealed  it, 
and  took  it  up,  together  with  his  bed-candle,  into  his  bed- 
room. Now  that  the  letter  w^as  written,  it  seemed  to  be 
a  thing  fixed  by  fate  that  it  must  go.  He  had  written  it 
that  he  might  see  how  it  looked  when  written ;  but,  now 
that  it  was  written,  there  remained  no  doubt  but  that  it 
must  be  sent.  So  he  went  to  bed,  with  the  letter  on  the 
toilet-table  beside  him,  and  early  in  the  morning — so  early 
as  to  make  it  seem  that  the  importance  of  the  letter  had 
disturbed  his  rest — he  sent  it  off  by  a  special  messenger  to 
Boxall  Hill.. 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  433 

'^'se  wait  for  an  answer  ?'•'  said  the  boy. 

"No,"  said  the  doctor;  "leave  the  letter,  and  come 
away." 

The  breakfast  hour  was  not  very  early  at  Boxall  Hill  in 
these  summer  months.  Frank  Gresham,  no  doubt,  went 
round  his  farm  before  he  came  in  for  prayers,  and  his  wife 
was  probably  looking  to  the  butter  in  the  dairy.  At  any 
rate,  they  did  not  meet  till  near  ten,  and  therefore,  though 
the  ride  from  Greshamsbury  to  Boxall  Hill  was  nearly  two 
hours'  work,  Miss  Dunstable  had  her  letter  in  her  own 
room  before  she  came  down. 

She  read  it  in  silence  as  she  was  dressing,  while  the  maid 
was  Avith  her  in  the  room ;  but  she  made  no  sign  which 
could  induce  her  Abigail  to  think  that  the  epistle  was  more 
than  ordinarily  important.  She  read  it,  and  then  quietly 
refolding  it  and  placing  it  in  the  envelope,  she  put  it  down 
on  the  table  at  which  she  was  sitting.  It  was  full  fifteen 
minutes  afterward  that  she  begged  her  servant  to  see  if 
Mrs.  Gresham  were  still  in  her  own  room.  "  Because  I 
want  to  see  her  for  five  minutes  alone,  before  breakfast," 
said  Miss  Dunstable. 

"You  traitor!  you  false,  black  traitor!"  were  the  first 
words  which  Miss  Dunstable  spoke  when  she  found  herself 
alone  with  her  friend. 

"  Why,  what'^  the  matter  ?"  ' 

"  I  did  not  think  there  was  so  much  mischief  in  you,  nor 
so  keen  and  commonplace  a  desire  for  match-making. 
Look  here!  Read  the  first  four  lines;  not  more,  if  you 
please ;  the  rest  is  private.  Whose  is  the  other  judgment 
of  whom  your  uncle  speaks  in  his  letter  ?" 

"  Oh,  Miss  Dunstable !     I  must  read  it  all." 

"  Indeed  you'll  do  no  such  thing.  You  think  it's  a  love- 
letter,  I  dare  say ;  but,  indeed,  there's  not  a  word  about 
love  in  it." 

"  I  know  he  has  offered.  I  shall  be  so  glad,  for  I  know 
you  like  him." 

"  He  tells  me  that  I  am  an  old  woman,  and  insinuates 
that  I  may  probably  be  an  old  fool." 

"  I  am  sure  he  does  not  say  that." 
•   "Ah!  but  I'm  sure  that  he  does.     The  former  is  true 
enough,  and  I  never  complain  of  the  truth.     But  as  to  the 
latter,  I  am  by  no  means  so  certain  that  it  is  true — not  in 
the  sense  that  he  means  it." 

T 


434  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

"  Dear,  dearest  woman,  don't  go  on  in  that  way  now. 
Do  speak  out  to  me,  and  speak  without  jesting." 

"Whose  was  the  other  judgment  to  whom  he  trusts  so 
implicitly  ?     Tell  me  that." 

"  Mine — mine,  of  course.  No  one  else  can  have  spoken 
to  him  about  it.     Of  course  I  talked  to  him." 

"  And  what  did  you  tell  him  ?" 

"  I  told  him—" 

"  Well,  out  with  it.  Let  me  have  the  real  facts.  Mind, 
I  tell  you  fairly  that  you  had  no  right  to  tell  him  any  thing. 
What  passed  between  us  passed  m  confidence.  But  let  us 
hear  what  you  did  say." 

"I  told  him  that  you  would  have  him  if  he  offered." 
And  Mrs.  Gresham,  as  she  spoke,  looked  into  her  friend's 
face  doubtingly,  not  knowing  v/hether  m  very  truth  Miss 
Dunstable  were  pleased  with  her  or  displeased.  If  she 
were  displeased,  then  how  had  her  uncle  been  deceived  ! 

"  You  told  him  that  as  a  fact  ?" 

"  I  told  him  that  I  thought  so." 

"Then  I  suppose  I  am  bound  to  have  liim,"  said  Miss 
Dunstable,  dropping  the  letter  on  to  the  floor  in  mock  de- 
spair. 

"My  dear,  dear,  dearest  woman!"  said  Mrs. Gresham, 
bursting  into  tears,  and  throwing  herself  on  to  her  friend's 
neck. 

"Mind  you  are  a  dutiful  ni^ce,"  said  Miss  Dunstable. 
"  And  now  let  me  go  and  finish  dressing." 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  an  answer  was  sent  back 
to  Greshamsbury  in  these  words : 

''Dear  Dk.  Thorne, — I  do  and  will  trust  you  in  every  thing;  and 
it  shall  be  as  you  would  have  it.  Mary  writes  to  you ;  but  do  not  be- 
lieve a  word  she  says.  I  never  will  again,  for  she  has  behaved  so  bad 
in  this  matter.  YOurs  affectionately  and  very  truly, 

"Martha  Dukstable." 

"  And  so  I  am  going  to  marry  the  richest  woman  in  Eng- 
land," said  Dr.  Thorne  to  himself,  as  he  sat  down  that  day 
to  his  mutton-chop. 


FKAMLEY   PAItSO:yAGE.  43: 


CHAPTER  XL. 

INTERXECIXE. 

It  must  be  conceived  tliat  there  was  some  fueling  of  tri- 
imiph  at  Plumstead  Episcopi  when  the  wife  of  the  rector 
returned  home  with  her  daughter,  the  bride  elect  of  the 
Lord  Dumbello.  The  heir  of  the  Marquis  of  Hartletop 
was,  in  wealth,  the  most  considerable  mimarried  young 
nobleman  of  the  day ;  he  was  noted,  too,  as  a  man  difficult 
to  be  pleased — as  one  who  was  very  line,  and  who  gave 
himself  airs ;  and  to  have  been  selected  as  the  wife  of  such 
a  man  as  this  was  a  great  thing  for  the  daughter  of  a  parish 
clergyman.  We  have  seen  in  what  manner  the  happy  girl's 
mother  communicated  the  fact  to  Lady  Lufton,  hiding,  as 
it  were,  her  pride  imder  a  veil;  and  we  have  seen  also  how 
meekly  the  happy  girl  bore  her  own  great  fortune,  apply- 
ing herself  humbly  to  the  packing  of  her  clothes,  as  though 
she  ignored  her  own  glory. 

But,  nevertheless,  there  was  triumph  at  Plumstead  Epis- 
copi. The  mother,  Avhen  she  returned  home,  began  to  feel 
that  she  had  been  thoroughly  successful  in  the  great  object 
of  her  life.  AVhile  she  was  yet  in  London  she  had  hardly 
realized  her  satisfaction,  and  there  were  doubts  then  wheth- 
er the  cup  might  not  be  dashed  from  lier  lips  before  it  was 
tasted.  It  might  be  that  even  the  son  of  the  Marquis  of 
Hartletop  was  subject  to  parental  authority,  and  that  bar- 
riers should  spring  up  between  Griselda  and  her  coronet ; 
but  there  had  been  nothing  of  the  kind.  The  archdeacon 
had  been  closeted  with  the  marquis,  and  Mrs.  Grautly  had 
been  closeted  with  the  marchioness;  and  though  neither 
of  those  noble  persons  had  expressed  themselves  gratified 
by  their  son's  proposed  marriage,  so  also  neither  of  them 
had  made  any  attempt  to  prevent  it.  Lord  Dumbello-  was 
a  man  who  had  a  will  of  his  own — as  the  Grantlys  boasted 
among  themselves.  Poor  Griselda !  the  day  may  perhaps 
come  when  this  fact  of  her  lord's  masterful  will  inay  not 
to  her  be  matter  of  much  boasting.  But  in  London,  as  I 
was  saying,  there  had  been  no  time  for  an  appreciation  of 
the  family  joy.     The  Avork  to  be  done  was  nervous  in  its 


436  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

nature,  and  self-glorilication  might  have  been  fatal;  but 
now,  when  they  were  safe  at  Phinistead,  the  great  truth 
burst  upon  them  in  all  its  splendor. 

Mrs.  Grantly  had  but  one  daughter,  and  the  formation 
of  that  child's  character  and  her  establishment  in  the  world 
had  been  the  one  main  object  of  the  mother's  life.  Of 
Griselda's  great  beauty  the  Plumstead  household  had  long 
been  conscious  ;  of  her  discretion  also,  of  her  conduct,  and 
of  her  demeanor  there  had  been  no'doubt.  But  the  father 
had  sometimes  hinted  to  the  mother  that  he  did  not  think 
that  Grizzy  was  quite  so  clever  as  her  brothers.  "  I  don't 
agree  with  .you  at  all,"  Mrs.  Grantly  had  answered.  "  Be- 
sides, what  you  call  cleverness  is  not  at  all  necessary  in  a 
girl ;  she  is  perfectly  ladylike ;  even  you  won't  deny  that." 
The  archdeacon  had  never  wished  to  deny  it,  and  was  now 
fain  to  admit  that  what  he  had  called  cleverness  was  not 
necessary  in  a  young  lady. 

At  this  period  of  the  family  glory  the  archdeacon  him- 
self was  kejit  a  little  in  abeyance,  and  was  hardly  allowed 
free  intercourse  with  his  own  magnificent  child.  Indeed, 
to  give  him  his  due,  it  must  be  said  of  him  that  he  would 
not  consent  to  walk  in  the  triumj^hal  procession  which 
moved  with  stately  step,  to  and  fro,  through  the  Barchester 
regions.  He  kissed  his  daughter  and  blessed  her,  and  bade 
her  love  her  husband  and  be  a  good  wife ;  but  such  injunc- 
tions as  these,  seeing  how  splendidly  she  had  done  her 
duty  in  securing  to  herself  a  marquis,  seemed  out  of  place 
and  almost  vulgar.  Girls  about  to  marry  curates  or  suck- 
ing barristers  should  be  told  to  do  their  duty  in  that  sta- 
.  tion  of  life  to  which  God  might  be  calling  them,  but  it 
seemed  to  be  almost  an  impertinence  in  a  father  to  give 
such  an  injunction  to  a  future  marchioness. 

"I  do  not  think  that  you  have  any  ground  for  fear  on 
her  behalf,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly,  "  seeing  in  what  way  she 
has  hitherto  conducted  herself." 

"  She  has  been  a  good  girl,"  said  the  archdeacon,  "  but 
she  is  about  to  be  placed  in  a  position  of  great  temptation." 

"  She  has  a  strength  of  mind  suited  for  any  position," 
replied  Mrs.  Grantly,  vaingloriously. 

But,  nevertheless,  even  the  archdeacon  moved  about 
through  the  Close  at  Barchester  with  a  somewhat  prouder 
step  since  the  tidings  of  this  alliance  had  become  known 
there.     The  time  had  been — in  the  latter  days  of  his  fa- 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  437 

ther's  lifetime — when  he  was  the  greatest  man  of  the  Close. 
The  dean  had  been  old  and  infirm,  and  Dr.  Grantly  had 
wielded  the  bishop's  authority.  But,  since  that,  things  had 
altered.  A  new  bishop  had  come  there,  absolutely  hostile 
to  him.  A  new  dean  had  also  come,  who  was  not  only  his 
friend,  but  the  brother-in-law  of  his  wife ;  but  even  this 
advent  had  lessened  the  authority  of  the  archdeacon.  The 
vicars  choral  did  not  hang  upon  his  words  as  they  had  been 
wont  to  do,  and  the  minor  canons-  smiled  in  return  to  his 
smile  less  obsequiously  when  they  met  him  in  the  clerical 
circles  of  Barchester.  But  now  it  seemed  that  his  old  su- 
premacy was  restored  to  him.  In  the  minds  of  many  men, 
an  archdeacon,  who  was  the  father-in-law  of  a  marquis,  was 
himself  as  good  as  any  bishop.  He  did  not  say  much  of 
his  new  connection  to  others  besides  the  dean,  but  he  was 
conscious  of  the  fact,  and  conscious  also  of  the  reflected 
glory  which  shone  around  his  own  head. 

But,  as  regards  Mrs.  Grantly,  it  may  be  said  that  she 
moved  in  an  unending  procession  of  stately  ovation.  It 
must  not  be  supposed  that  she  continually  talked  to  her 
friends  and  neighbors  of  Lord  Dumbello  and  the  marchion- 
ess. She  was  by  far  too  wise  for  such  folly  as  that.  The 
coming  aUiance  having  b§en  once  announced,  the  name  of 
Hartletop  was  hardly  mentioned  by  her  out  of  her  own 
domestic  circle.  But  she  assumed,  with  an  ease  that  was 
surprising  even  to  herself,  the  airs  and  graces  of  a  mighty 
woman.  She  went  through  her  work  of  morning  calls  as 
though  it  were  her  business  to  be  affable  to  the  country 
gentry.  She  astonished  her  sister,  the  dean's  wife,  by  the 
simplicity  of  her  grandeur;  and  condescended  to  Mrs. 
Proudie  in  a  manner  which  nearly  broke  that  lady's  heart. 
"  I  shall  be  even  with  her  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Proudie  to  her- 
self, who  had  contrived  to  learn  various  very  deleterious 
circumstances  respecting  the  Hartletop  family  since  the 
news  about  Lord  Dumbello  and  Griselda  had  become  known 
to  her. 

Griselda  lierself  was  carried  about  in  the  procession,  tak- 
ing but  little  part  in  it  of  her  own,  like  an  Eastern  god. 
She  suflered  her  mother's  caresses  and  smiled  in  her  moth- 
er's face  as  she  listened  to  her  own  praises,  but  her  triumph 
was  apparently  within.  To  no  one  did  she  say  much  on 
the  subject,  and  greatly  disgusted  the  old  family  house- 
keeper by  declining  altogether  to  discuss  the  future  Dum- 


438  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

bello  menage.  To  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Arabin,  who  strove  hard 
to  lead  her  into  some  open-hearted  speech  as  to  her  future 
aspirations,  she  was  perfectly  impassive.  "  Oh  yes,  aunt, 
of  course,"  and  "  I'll  think  about  it.  Aunt  Eleanor^"  or  "  Of 
course  I  shall  do  that,  if  Lord  Dumbello  wishes  it."  Noth- 
ing beyond  this  could  be  got  from  her ;  and  so,  after  half 
a  dozen  ineffectual  attempts,  Mrs.  Arabin  abandoned  the 
matter. 

But  then  there  arose  the  subject  of  clothes — of  the  wed- 
ding trousseau!  Sarcastic  people  are  wont  to  say  that  the 
tailor  makes  the  man.  Were  I  such  a  one,  I  might  cer- 
tainly assert  that  the  milliner  makes  the  bride.  As  regard- 
ing her  bridehood,  in  distinction  either  to  her  girlhood  or 
her  wifehood — as  being  a  line  of  plain  demarkation  between 
those  tvv^o  periods  of  a  woman's  life — the  milliner  does  do 
much  to  make  her.  She  would  be  hardly  a  bride  if  the 
trousseau  were  not  there.  A  girl  married  without  some 
such  appendage  would  seem  to  pass  into  the  condition  of 
a  wife  without  any  such  line  of  demarkation.  In  that  mo- 
ment in  which  she  finds  herself  in  the  first  fruition  of  her 
marriage  finery  she  becomes  a  bride;  and  in  that  other 
moment,  when  she  begins  to  act  upon  the  finest  of  these 
things  as  clothes  to  be  packed  up,  she  becomes  a  wife. 

When  this  subject  was  discussed  Griselda  displayed  no 
lack  of  a  becoming  interest.  She  Avent  to  work  steadily, 
slowly,  and  almost  with  solemnity,  as  though  the  business 
in  hand  were  one  which  it  would  be  wicked  to  treat  with 
impatience.  She  even  struck  her  mother  with  awe  by  the 
grandeur  of  her  ideas  and  the  depth  of  her  theories.  Nor 
let  it  be  supposed  that  she  rushed  away  at  once  to  the  con- 
sideration of  the  great  fabric  which  was  to  be  the  ultimate 
sign  and  mark  of  her  status,  the  quintessence  of  her  brid- 
ing,  the  outer  veil,  as  it  were,  of  the  tabernacle — namely, 
her  wedding-dress.  As  a  great  poet  works  himself  up  by 
degrees  to  that  inspiration  which  is  necessary  for  the  grand 
turning-point  of  his  epic,  so  did  she  slowly  approach  the 
hallowed  ground  on  which  she  would  sit,  with  her  minis- 
ters around  her,  when  about  to  discuss  the  nature,  the  ex- 
tent, the  design,  the  coloring,  the  structure,  and  the  orna- 
mentation of  that  momentous  piece  of  apparel.  No  ;  .there 
was  much  indeed  to  be  done  before  she  came  to  this ;  and 
as  the  poet,  to  whom  I  have  already  alluded,  first  invokes 
his  muse,  and  then  brings  his  smaller  events  gradually  out 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  439 

upon  his  stage,  so  did  Miss  Grantly  with  sacred  fervor  ask 
her  mother's  aid,  and  then  prepare  her  Hst  of  all  those  ar- 
ticles of  under-clothing  which  must  be  the  substratum  for 
the  visible  magnificence  of  her  trousseaic. 

Money  was  no  object.  We  all  know  what  that  means ; 
and  frequently  understand,  when  the  words  are  used,  that 
a  blaze  of  splendor  is  to  be  attained  at  the  cheapest  possi- 
ble price.  But,  in  this  instance,  money  was  no  object — 
such  an  amount  of  money,  at  least,  as  could  by  any  possibil- 
ity be  spent  on  a  lady's  clothes,  independently  of  her  jew- 
els. With  reference  to  diamonds  and  such  like,  the  arch- 
deacon at  once  declared  his  intention  of  taking  the  matter 
into  his  own  hands — except  in  so  far  as  Lord  Dumbello,  or 
the  Ilartletop  interest,  might  be  pleased  to  participate  in 
the  selection.  Nor  was  Mrs.  Grantly  sorry  for  such  a  de- 
cision. She  was  not  an  imjDrudent  woman,  and  would  have 
dreaded  the  responsibility  of  trusting  herself  on  such  an 
occasion  among  the  dangerous  temptations  of  a  jeweler's 
shop.  But  as  far  as  silks  and  satins  went — in  the  matter 
of  French  bonnets,  muslins,  velvets,  hats,  riding-habits,  ar- 
tificial flowers,  head-gilding,  curious  nettings,  enameled 
buckles,  golden-tagged  bobbins,  and  mechanical  petticoats 
— as  regarded  shoes,  and  gloves,  and  corsets,  and  stockings, 
and  linen,  and  flaimel,  and  calico — money,  I  may  conscien- 
tiously assert,  was  no  object.  And,  under  these  circum- 
stances, Griselda  Grantly  went  to  work  with  a  solemn  in- 
dustry and  a  steady  perseverance  that  was  beyond  all 
praise. 

"  I  hope  she  will  be  happy,"  Mrs.  Arabin  said  to  her  sis- 
ter, as  the  two  were  sitting  together  in  the  dean's  draw- 
ing-room. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  think  she  will.  Why  should  she  not  ?"  said 
the  mother. 

"  Oh  no,  I  know  of  no  reason.  But  she  is  going  up  into 
a  station  so  much  above  her  own  in  the  eyes  of  the  world 
that  one  can  not  but  feel  anxious  for  her." 

"  I  should  feel  much  more  anxious  if  she  were  going  to 
marry  a  poor  man,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly.  "  It  has  always 
seemed  to  me  that  Griselda  was  fitted  for  a  high  position ; 
that  nature  intended  her  for  rank  and  state.  You  see  that 
she  is  not  a  bit  elated.  She  takes  it  all  as  if  it  were  her 
own  by  right.  I  do  not  tliink  that  there  is  any  danger 
that  her  head  will  be  turned,  if  you  mean  that." 


440  FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

"I  Mas  thiiiking  rather  of  her  heart,"  said  Mrs.  Arabin. 

"She  never  would  have  taken  Lord  Dumbe]lo  without 
loving  him,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly,  speaking  rather  quickly. 

"That  is  not  quite  what  I  mean,  either,  Susan.  I  am 
sure  she  would  not  have  accepted  him  had  she  not  loved 
him.  But  it  is  so  hard  to  keep  the  heart  ficsh  among  all 
the  grandeurs  of  high  rank ;  and  it  is  harder  for  a  girl  to 
do  so  who  has  not  been  born  to  it,  than  for  one  who  has 
enjoyed  it  as  her  birthright." 

"I  doi\,'t  quite  understand  about  fresh  liearts,"  said  Mrs. 
Grantly,  pettishly.  "  If  she  does  her  duty,  and  loves  her 
husband,  and  fills  the  position  in  which  God  has  placed 
her  with  propriety,  I  don't  know  that  we  need  look  for  any 
thing  more.  I  don't  at  all  approve  of  the  plan  of  frighten- 
ing a  young  girl  when  she  is  making  her  first  outset  into 
the  world." 

"  No,  I  would  not  frighten  her.  I  think  it  would  be  al- 
most difficult  to  frighten  Griselda." 

"I  hope  it  would.  The  great  matter  with  a  girl  is 
whether  she  has  been  brought  u]^  with  proper  notions  as 
to  a  woman's  duty.  Of  course  it  is  not  for  me  to  boast  on 
this  subject.  Such  as  she  is,  I,  of  course,  am  responsible. 
But  I  must  own  that  I  do  not  see  occasion  to  wish  for  any 
change."     And  then  the  subject  was  allowed  to  drop. 

Among  those  of  her  relations  who  wondered  much  at 
the  girl's  fortune,  but  allowed  themselves  to  say  but  little, 
was  her  grandfather,  Mr.  Harding.  He  was  an  old  clergy- 
man, plain  and  simple  in  his  manners,  and  not  occupying  a 
very  prominent  position,  seeing  that  he  w^as  only  precentor 
to  the  chapter.  He  was  loved  by  his  daughter,  Mrs. 
Grantly,  and  was  treated  by  the  archdeacon,  if  not  invari- 
ably with  the  highest  respect,  at  least  always  with  consid- 
eration and  regard.  But,  old  and  plain  as  he  w^as,  the 
young  people  at  Plumstead  did  not  hold  him  in  any  great 
reverence.  He  was  poorer  than  their  other  relatives,  and 
made  no  attempt  to  hold  his  head  high  in  Barsetshire  cir- 
cles. Moreover,  in  these  latter  days,  the  home  of  his  heart 
had  been  at  the  deanery.  He  had,  indeed,  a  lodging  of  his 
own  in  the  city,  but  Avas  gradually  allowing  himself  to  be 
weaned  away  from  it.  He  had  his  own  bedroom  in  the 
dean's  house,  his  own  arm-chair  in  the  dean's  library,  and 
his  own  corner  on  a  sofa  in  Mrs.  Dean's  drawing-room.  It 
was  not,  therefore,  necessary  that  he  should  interfere  great- 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  441' 

ly  in  tliis  coming  marriage ;  but  still  it  became  liis  duty  to 
say  a  word  of  congratulation  to  his  granddaughter,  and 
perhaps  to  say  a  word  of  advice. 

"  Grizzy,  my  dear,"  he  said  to  her — he  always  called  her 
Grizzy,  but  the  endearment  of  the  appellation  had  never 
been  appreciated  by  the  young  lady — "  come  and  kiss  me, 
and  let  me  congratulate  you  on  your  great  promotion.  I 
do  so  very  heartily." 

"Thank  you,  grandpapa,"  she  said,  touching  his  forehead 
with  her  lips,  thus  being,  as  it  Avere,  very  sparing  with  her 
kiss.  But  those  lips  now  were  august  and  reserved  for 
nobler  foreheads  than  that  of  an  old  cathedral  hack ;  for 
Mr.  Harding  still  chanted  the  Litany  from  Sunday  to  Sun- 
day, imceasingly,  standhig  at  that  well-known  desk  in  the 
cathedral  choir,  and  Griselda  had  a  thought  in  her  mind 
that  when  the  Hartletop  people  should  hear  of  the  prac- 
tice, they  would  not  be  delighted.  Dean  and  archdeacon 
might  be  very  well,  and  if  her  grandfather  had  even  been 
a  prebendary  she  might  have  put  up  with  him;  but  be 
had,  she  thought,  almost  disgraced  his  family  in  being,  at 
his  age,  one  of  the  working  menial  clergy  of  the  cathedral. 
She  kissed  him,  therefore,  sparingly,  and  resolved  that  her 
words  with  him  should  be  few. 

"  You  are  going  to  be  a  great  lady,  Grizzy,"  said  he. 

"  Umph !"  said  she. 

What  was  she  to  say  when  so  addressed  ? 

"  And  I  hope  you  will  be  happy — and  make  others  hap- 

py" 

"  I  hope  I  shall,"  said  she. 

"But  always  think  most  about  the  latter,  my  dear. 
Think  about  the  happiness  of  those  around  you,  and  your 
own  will  come  without  thinking.  You  imderstand  that,  do 
you  not  ?" 

"Oh  yes,  I  understand,"  she  said. 

As  they  were  speaking  Mr.  Harding  still  held  her  hand, 
but  Griselda  left  it  with  him  unwillingly,  and  therefore  un- 
graciously, looking  as  though  she  were  dragging  it  from 
him. 

"  And,  Grizzy,  I  believe  it  is  quite  as  easy  for  a  rich 
countess  to  be  happy  as  for  a  dairy-maid — " 

Griselda  gave  her  head  a  little  chuck,  which  was  pro- 
duced by  two  different  operations  of  her  mind.  The  first 
was  a  reflection  that  her  grandpapa  Avas  robbing  her  of  her 

T  2 


442  FRABILEY   PARSONAGE. 

rank :  she  was  to  be  a  rich  marchioness.  And  the  second 
was  a  feeling  of  anger  at  the  old  man  for  comparing  her 
lot  to  that  of  a  dairy-maid. 

"  Quite  as  easy,  I  believe,"  continued  he,  "  though  others 
will  tell  you  that  it  is  not  so.  But  with  the  countess  as 
with  the  dairy-maid,  it  must  depend  on  the  woman  herself. 
Being  a  countess — that  fact  alone  won't  make  you  happy." 

"  Lord  Dumbello  at  present  is  only  a  viscount,"  said 
Griselda.     "There's  no  earl's  title  in  the  family." 

"  Oh !  I  did  not  know,"  said  Mr.  Harding,  relinquishing 
his  granddaughter's  hand ;  and,  after  that,  he  troubled  her 
with  no  firther  advice. 

Both  Mrs.  Proudie  and  the  bishop  had  called  at  Plum- 
stead  since  Mrs.  Grantly  had  come  back  from  London,  and 
the  ladies  from  Plumstead,  of  course,  returned  the  visit.  It 
was  natural  that  the  Grantlys  and  Proudies  should  hate 
each  other.  They  were  essentially  Church  people,  and 
their  views  on  all  Church  matters  were  antagonistic.  They 
had  been  compelled  to  fight  for  supremacy  in  the  diocese, 
and  neither  family  had  so  conquered  the  other  as  to  have 
become  capable  of  magnanimity  and  good-humor.  They 
did  hate  each  other,  and  this  hatred  had,  at  one  time,  almost 
produced  an  absolute  disseverance  of  even  the  courtesies 
which  are  so  necessary  between  a  bishop  and  his  clergy. 
But  the  bitterness  of  this  rancor  had  been  overcome,  and 
the  ladies  of  the  families  had  continued  on  visiting  terms. 

But  now  this  match  was  almost  more  than  Mrs.  Proudie 
could  bear.  The  great  disappointment  which,  as  she  well 
knew,  the  Grantlys  had  encountered  in  that  matter  of  the 
proposed  new  bishopric  had  for  the  moment  mollified  her. 
!:)he  had  been  able  to  talk  of  poor  dear  Mrs.  Grantly !  "  She 
is  heartbroken,  you  know,  in  this  matter,  and  the  repetition 
of  such  misfortunes  is  hard  to  bear,"  she  had  been  heard 
to  say,  with  a  complacency  which  had  been  quite  becom- 
ing to  her.  But  now  that  complacency  was  at  an  end. 
Olivia  Proudie  had  just  accepted  a  widowed  preacher  at  a 
district  church  in  Bethnal  Green — a  man  with  three  chil- 
dren, who  was  dependent  on  pew-rents;  and  Griselda 
Grantly  w^as  engaged  to  the  eldest  son  of  the  Marquis  of 
Hartletop !  When  women  are  enjoined  to  forgive  their 
enemies,  it  can  not  be  intended  that  such  wrongs  as  these 
should  be  included. 

But  Mrs.  Pi'oudie's  courage  was  nothing  daunfed.     It 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  443 

may  be  boasted  of  lier  that  nothing  conld  daunt  her  cour- 
age. Soon  after  lier  return  to  Barchester,  she  and  Olivia 
— Olivia  being  very  unwilling — had  driven  over  to  Plum- 
stead,  and,  not  finding  the  Grantlys  at  home,  had  left  their 
cards ;  and  now,  at  a  proper  interval,  Mrs.  Grantly  and  Gri- 
selda  returned  the  visit.  It  was  the  first  time  that  Miss 
Grantly  had  been  seen  by  the  Proudie  ladies  since  the  fact 
of  her  engagement  had  become  known.         '^ 

The  first  bevy  of  compliments  that  passed  might  be  liken- 
ed to  a  crowd  of  flowers  on  a  hedge  rose-bush.  They  were 
beautiful  to  the  eye,  but  were  so  closely  environed  by 
thorns  that  they  could  not  be  plucked  without  great  dan- 
ger. As  long  as  the  compliments  were  allowed  to  remain 
on  the  hedge — while  no  attempt  was  made  to  garner  them 
and  realize  their  fruits  for  enjoyment,  they  did  no  mischief; 
but  the  first  finger  that  was  put  forth  for  such  a  purpose 
was  soon  drawn  back,  marked  with  spots  of  blood. 

"  Of  course  it  is  a  great  match  for  Griselda,"  said  Mrs. 
Grantly,  in  a  whisper,  the  meekness  of  which  would  have 
disarmed  an  enemy  whose  weapons  were  less  firmly  clutch- 
ed than  those  of  Mrs.  Proudie ;  "  but,  independently  of 
that,  the  connection  is  one  which  is  gratifying  in  many 
ways." 

"  Oh,  no  doubt,"  said  Mrs.  Proudie. 

"  Lord  Dumbello  is  so  completely  his  own  master,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Grantly,  and  a  sHght,  unintended  semi-tone  of 
triumph  mingled  itself  with  the  meekness  of  that  whisper. 

"And  is  likely  to  remain  so,  from  all  I  hear,"  said  Mrs. 
Proudie,  and  the  scratched  hand  was  at  once  drawn  back. 

"  Of  course  the  estab — "  and  then  Mrs.  Proudie,  who 
was  blandly  continuing  her  list  of  congratulations,  whis- 
pered her  sentence  close  into  the  ear  of  Mrs.  Grantly,  so 
that  not  a  word  of  Avhat  she  said  might  be  audible  by  the 
young  people. 

"I  never  heard  a  word  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly,  gather- 
ing herself  up,  "  and  I  don't  believe  it." 

"  Oh,  I  may  be  wrong,  and  I'm  sure  I  hope  so.  But 
young  men  will  be  young  men,  you  know,  and  children 
will  take  after  their  parents.  I  suppose  you  Avill  see  a 
great  deal  of  the  Duke  of  Omnium  now." 

But  Mrs.  Grantly  was  not  a  woman  to  be  knocked  down 
and  trampled  on  without  resistance ;  and,  though  she  had 
been  lacerated  by  the  rose-bush,  she  was  not  as  yet  placed 


444  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

altogether  hors  de  combat.  She  said  some  word  about  the 
Duke  of  Omnium  very  tranquilly,  speaking  of  him  merely 
as  a  Barsetshire  proprietor,  and  then,  smiling  with  her 
sweetest  smile,  expressed  a  hope  that  she  might  soon  have 
the  pleasure  of  becoming  acquainted  with  Mr.  Tickler ;  and 
as  she  spoke  she  made  a  pretty  little  bow  toward  Olivia 
Proudie.  Now  Mr.  Tickler  was  the  worthy  clergyman  at- 
tached to  the  district  church  at  Bethnal  Green. 

"  He'll  be  down  here  in  August,"  said  Olivia,  boldly,  de- 
termined not  to  be  shamefaced  about  her  love  affairs. 

"  You'll  be  starring  it  about  the  Continent  by  that  time, 
my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Proudie  to  Griselda.  "  Lord  Dum- 
bello  is  w^ell  known  at  Homburg  and  Ems,  and  places  of 
that  sort,  so  you  will  find  yourself  quite  at  home." 

"  We  are  going  to  Rome,"  said  Griselda,  majestically. 

"  I  suppose  Mr. Tickler  will  come  into  the  diocese  soon," 
said  Mrs.Grantly.  "I  remember  hearing  him  very  favor- 
ably spoken  of  by  Mr.  Slope,  who  was  a  friend  of  his." 

Nothing  short  of  a  fixed  resolve  on  the  part  of  Mrs. 
Grantly  that  the  time  had  now  come  in  which  she  must 
throw  away  her  shield  and  stand  behind  her  sword,  declare 
war  to  the  knife,  and  neither  give  nor  take  quarter,  could 
have  justified  such  a  speech  as  this.  Any  allusion  to  Mr. 
Slope  acted  on  Mrs.  Proudie  as  a  red  cloth  is  supposed  to 
act  on  a  bull ;  but  when  that  allusion  connected  the  name 
of  Mr.  Slope  in  a  friendly  bracket  with  that  of  Mrs.  Proudic's 
future  son-in-law,  it  might  be  certain  that  the  effect  would 
be  terrific.  And  there  was  more  than  this ;  for  that  very 
Mr.  Slope  had  once  entertained  audacious  hopes — hopes  not 
thought  to  be  audacious  by  the  young  lady  herself— with 
reference  to  Miss  Olivia  Proudie.  All  this  Mrs.  Grantly 
knew,  and,  knowing  it,  still  dared  to  mention  his  name. 

The  countenance  of  Mrs.  Proudie  became  darkened  with 
black  anger,  and  the  polished  smile  of  her  company  man- 
ners gave  place  before  the  outraged  feelings  of  her  nature. 

"  The  man  you  speak  of,  Mrs.  Grantly,"  said  she,  "  was 
never  known  as  a  friend  by  Mr.  Tickler." 

"Oh,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly.  "Perhaps  I  have 
made  a  mistake.  I  am  sure  I  have  heard  Mr.  Slope  men- 
tion him." 

"  When  Mr.  Slope  was  running  after  your  sister,  Mrs. 
Grantly,  and  was  encouraged  by  her  as  he  was,  you  per- 
haps saw  more  of  him  than  I  did." 


FllAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  445 

"  Mrs.  Proudie,  that  Avas  never  the  case." 

"I  have  reason  to  know  that  the  archdeacon  conceived 
it  to  be  so,  and  that  he  was  ver^unhappy  about  it."  Now 
this,  unfortunately,  was  a  fact  Avhich  Mrs.  Grantly  could 
not  deny. 

"The  archdeacon  may  have  been  mistaken  about  Mr. 
Slope,"  she  said,  "  as  were  some  other  people  at  Barchester. 
But  it  was  you,  I  think^  Mrs.  Proudie,  who  were  responsi- 
ble for  bringing  him  here." 

Mrs.  Grantly,  at  this  period  of  the  engagement,  might 
have  inflicted  a  fatal  wound  by  referring  to  poor  Olivia's 
former  love  afiairs,  but  she  was  not  destitute  of  generosity. 
Even  in  the  extremest  heat  of  the  battle  she  knew  how  to 
spare  the  young  and  tender. 

"  When  I  came  here,  Mrs.  Grantly,  I  little  dreamed  what 
a  depth  of  wickedness  might  be  found  in  the  very  close  of 
a  cathedral  city,"  said  Mrs.  Proudie. 

"Then,  for  dear  Olivia's  sake,  pray  do  not  bring  poor 
Mr.  Tickler  to  Barchester." 

"  Mr.  Tickler,  Mrs.  Grantly,  is  a  man  of  assured  morals 
and  of  a  highly  religious  tone  of  thinking.  I  wish  every 
one  could  be  so  safe  as  regards  their  daughters'  future 
prospects  as  I  am." 

"  Yes,  I  know  he  has  the  advantage  of  being  a  family 
man,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly,  getting  up.  "Good-morning, 
Mrs.  Proudie ;  good-day,  Olivia." 

"  A  great  deal  better  that  than — "  But  the  blow  fell 
upon  the  empty  air,  for  Mrs.  Grantly  had  already  escaped 
on  to  the  staircase,  while  Olivia  was  ringing  the  bell  for 
the  servant  to  attend  the  front  door. 

Mrs.  Grantly,  as  she  got  into  her  carriage,  smiled  slight- 
ly, thinking  of  the  battle,  and  as  she  sat  down  she  gently 
pressed  her  daughter's  hand.  But  Mrs.  Proudie's  face  was 
still  dark  as  Acheron  when  her  enemy  withdrew,  and  with 
angry  tone  she  sent  her  daughter  to  her  work.  "Mr. 
Tickler  will  have  great  reason  to  complain  if,  in  your  posi- 
tion, you  indulge  such  habits  of  idleness,"  she  said.  There- 
fore I  conceive  that  I  am  justified  in  saying  that  in  that 
encounter  Mrs.  Grantly  was  the  conqueror. 


446  '  FKAMLEY    PAKSONAGE. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

DON    QUIXOTE. 

On  the  day  on  which  Lucy  had  her  interview  with  Lady 
Lufton  the  dean  dined  at  Framley  Parsonage.  He  and 
Robarts  had  known  each  other  since  the  latter  had  been  in 
the  diocese,  and  now,  owing  to  Mark's  preferment  in  the 
chapter,  had  become  ahnost  intimate.  Tlie  denn  Avas  great- 
ly pleased  witli  the  manner  in  which  poor  Mr.  Crawley's 
children  had  been  conveyed  away  from  Hogglestock,  and 
was  inclined  to  open  his  heart  to  the  whole  Framley  house- 
hold. As  he  still  had  to  ride  home  he  could  only  allow 
himself  to  remain  half  an  hour  after  dinner,  but  in  that  half 
hour  he  said  a  great  deal  about  Crawley,  comi^limented 
Robarts  on  the  manner  in  which  he  was  playing  the  part 
of  the  Good  Samaritan,  and  then,  by  degrees,  informed  him 
that  it  had  come  to  his,  the  dean's  ears,  before  he  left  Bar- 
chester,  that  a  writ  was  in  the  hands  of  certain  persons  in 
the  city,  enabling  them  to  seize — he  did  not  know  whether 
it  Avas  the  person  or  the  property  of  the  vicar  of  Framley. 

The  fact  was  that  these  tidings  had  been  conveyed  to 
the  dean  with  the  express  intent  that  he  might  put  Ro- 
barts on  his  guard  ;  but  the  task  of  speaking  on  such  a  sub- 
ject to  a  brother  clergyman  had  been  so  unpleasant  to  him 
that  he  had  been  unable  to  introduce  it  till  the  last  five 
minutes  before  his  departure. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  put  it  down  as  an  impertinent  in- 
terference," said  the  dean,  apologizing. 

"No,"  said  Mark,  "no,  I  do  not  think  that."  He  was 
so  sad  at.heart  that  he  hardly  knew  how  to  speak  of  it. 

"  I  do  not  understand  much  about  such  matters,"  said 
the  dean;  "but  I  think,  if  I  were  you,  I  should  go  to  a 
lawyer.  I  should  imagine  that  any  thing  so  terril)]y  dis- 
agreeable as  an  arrest  might  be  avoided." 

"  It  is  a  hard  case,"  said  Mark,  pleading  his  own  cause. 
"Though  these  men  have  this  claim  against  me,  I  have 
never  received  a  shilling  either  in  money  or  money'-s 
worth." 

"  And  yet  your  name  is  to  the  bills !"  snid  the  dean. 


PRAMLEY    PARSOJ^AGE.  44*7 

"  Yes,  my  name  is  to  the  bills,  certainly,  but  it  was  to 
oblige  a  friend." 

And  then  the  dean,  having  given  his  advice,  rode  away. 
He  could  not  understand  how  a  clergyman,  situated  as  was 
Mr.  Robarts,  could  find  himself  called  upon  by  friendship 
to  attach  his  name  to  accommodation  bills  which  ho  had 
not  the  power  of  liquidating  when  due  ! 

On  that  evening  they  were  both  wretched  enough  at  the 
Parsonage.  Hitherto  Mark  had  hoped  that  perhaps,  after 
all,  no  absolutely  hostile  steps  would  be  taken  against  him 
witli  reference  to  these  bills.  Some  unforeseen  chance 
might  occur  in  his  favor,  or  the  persons  holdilig  them  might 
consent  to  take  small  installments  of  payment  from  time  to 
time;  but  now  it  seemed  that  the  evil  day  was  actually 
coming  upon  him  at  a  blow.  He  had  no  longer  any  secrets 
from  his  wife.  Should  he  go  to  a  lawyer?  and  if  soj  to 
what  lawyer  ?  And  when  he  had  found  his  lawyer,  what 
should  he  say  to  him  ?  Mrs.  Robarts  at  one  time  suggest- 
ed that  every  thing  should  be  told  to  Lady  Lufton.  Mark, 
however,  could  not  bring  himself  to  do  that.  "  It  would 
seem,"  he  said,  "  as  though  I  wanted  her  to  lend  me  the 
money." 

On  the  following  morning  Mark  did  ride  into  Barchester, 
dreading,  however,  lest  he  should  be  arrested  on  his  jour- 
ney, and  ho  did  see  a  lawyer.  During  his  absence  two 
calls  were  made  at  the  Parsonage :  one  by  a  very  rough- 
looking  individual,  w'ho  left  a  suspicious  document  in  the 
hands  of  the  servant,  purporting  to  be  an  invitation — not 
to  dinner — from  one  of  the  judges  of  the  land;  and  the 
other  call  was  made  by  Lady  Lufton  in  person. 

Mrs.  Robarts  had  determined  to  go  down  to  Framley 
Court  on  that  day.  In  accordance  with  her  usual  custom, 
she  would  have  been  there  within  an  hour  or  two  of  Lady 
Luftoh's  return  from  London,  but  things  between  them 
were  not  now  as  they  nsually  had  been.  This  affair  of 
Lucy's  must  make  a  difference,  let  them  both  resolve  to 
the  contrary  as  they  may.  And,  indeed,  Mrs.  Robarts  had 
found  that  the  closeness  of  her  intimacy  with  Framley 
Court  had  been  diminishing  from  day  to  day  shice  Lucy 
had  first  begun  to  be  on  friendly  terms  with  Lord  Lufton. 
Since  that  slie  had  been  less  at  Framley  Court  than  usual; 
she  had  heard  from  Lady  Lufton  less  frequently  by  letter 
during  her  absence  than  she  had  done  in  former  years,  and 


448  FKAMLEY    TAESONAGE. 

was  aware  that  slie  was  less  implicitly  trusted  with  all  the 
affairs  of  the  parish.  This  had  not  made  her  angry,  for  she 
was  in  a  manner  conscious  that  it  must  be  so.  It  made 
her  unhappy,  but  what  could  she  do  ?  She  could  not  blame 
Lucy,  nor  could  she  blame  Lady  Lufton.  Lord  Lufton  she 
did  blame,  but  she  did  so  in  the  hearing  of  no  one  but  her 
husband. 

Her  mind,  however,  was  made  up  to  go  over  and  bear 
the  first  brunt  of  her  ladyship's  arguments,  when  she  was 
stopped  by  her  ladyship's  arrival.  If  it  were  not  for  this 
terrible  matter  of  Lucy's  love — a  matter  on  which  they 
could  not  now  be  silent  when  they  met — there  would  be 
twenty  subjects  of  pleasant,  or,  at  any  rate,  not  unpleasant 
conversation.  But  even  then  there  would  be  those  terri- 
ble bills  hanging  over  her  conscience,  and  almost  crushing 
her  by  their  weight.  At  the  moment  in  which  Lady  Lul- 
ton  walked  up  to  the  drawing-room  window,  Mrs.  Robarts 
held  in  her  hand  that  ominous  invitation  from  the  judge. 
Would  it  not  be  well  that  she  should  make  a  clean  breast 
of  it  all,  disregarding  what  her  husband  had  said?  It 
might  be  well;  only  this — she  had  never  yet  done  any  thing 
in  opposition  to  her  husband's  wishes.  So  she  hid  the  slip 
within  her  desk,  and  left  the  matter  open  to  consideration. 

The  interview  commenced  with  an  affectionate  embrace, 
as  was  a  matter  of  course.  "Dear  Fanny,"  and  "Dear 
Lady  Lufton,"  was  said  between  them  with  all  the  usual 
Avarmtli.  And  then  the  first  inquiry  was  made  about  the 
children,  and  the  second  about  the  school.  For  a  minute 
or  two  Mrs.  Robarts  thought  that,  perhaps,  nothing  was  to 
be  said  about  Lucy.  If  it  pleased  Lady  Lufton  to  be  si- 
lent, she,  at  least,  would  not  commence  the  subject. 

Then  there  was  a  word  or  two  spoken  about  Mrs.  Podg- 
ens'  baby,  after  which  Lady  Lufton  asked  whetlier  Fanny 
were  alone. 

"  Yes,"  said  -Mrs.  Robarts.  "  Mark  has  gone  over  to 
Barchester." 

"  I  hope  he  will  not  be  long  before  he  lets  me  see  him. 
Perhaps  he  can  call  to-morrow.  Would  you  both  come 
and  dine  to-morrow  ?" 

"  Not  to-morrow,  I  think,  Lady  Lufton  ;  but  Mark,  I  am 
sure,  will  go  over  and  call." 

"  And  Avhy  not  come  to  dinner  ?  I  hope  there  is  to  be 
no  change  among  us,  eh,  Fanny  ?"  and  Lady  Lufton,  as  she 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  449 

spoke,  looked  into  the  other's  face  in  a  manner  wliich  al- 
most made  Mrs.  Kobarts  get  up  and  throw  herself  on  her 
old  friend's  neck.  Where  was  she  to  find  a  friend  who 
would  give  her  such  constant  love  as  she  had  received  from 
Lady  Lufton  ?  And  who  was  kinder,  better,  more  honest 
than  she  ? 

"  Change !  no,  I  hope  not.  Lady  Lufton  ;"  and,  as  she 
spoke,  the  tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 

"  Ah !  but  I  shall  think  there  is  if  you  will  not  come  to 
me  as  you  used  to  do.  You  always  used  to  come  and  dine 
Avith  me  the  day  I  came  home,  as  a  matter  of  course." 

What  could  she  say,  poor  woman,  to  this  ? 

"We  were  all  in  confusion  yesterday  about  poor  Mrs. 
Crawley,  and  the  dean  dined  here ;  he  had  been  over  at 
Ilogglestock  to  see  his  friend." 

"  I  have  heard  of  her  illness,  and  will  go  over  and  see 
what  ought  to  be  done.  Don't  you  go,  do  you  hear,  Fan- 
ny ?  You  Avith  your  young  children  !  I  should  never  for- 
give you  if  you  did." 

And  then  Mrs.  Robarts  explained  how  Lucy  had  gone 
there,  had  sent  the  four  children  back  to  Framley,  and  was 
herself  now  staying  at  Ilogglestock  with  the  object  of 
nursing  Mrs.  Crawley.  Li  telling  the  story  she  abstained 
from  praising  Lucy  with  all  the  strong  language  which  she 
would  have  used  had  not  Lucy's  name  and  character  been 
at  the  present  moment  of  peculiar  import  to  Lady  Lufton  ; 
but,  nevertheless,  she  could  not  tell  it  Avithout  dwelling 
much  on  Lucy's  kindness.  It  Avould  have  been  ungenerous 
to  Lady  Lufton  to  make  much  of  Lucy's  virtue  at  this  pres- 
ent moment,  but  unjust  to  Lucy  to  make  nothing  of  it. 

"  And  she  is  actually  with  Mrs.  CraAvley  now  ?"  asked 
Lady  Lufton. 

"  Oh  yes,  ^lark  left  her  there  yesterday  afternoon"." 

"  And  the  four  children  are  all  here  in  the  house  ?" 

"Not  exactly  in  the  house — that  is,  not  as  yet.  We 
have  arranged  a  sort  of  quarantine  hospital  over  the  coach- 
house." 

"  What,  where  Stubbs  lives  ?" 

"  Yes ;  Stubbs  and  his  wife  have  come  into  the  house, 
and  the  children  are  to  remain  up  there  till  the  doctor  says 
that  there  is  no  danger  of  infection.  I  have  not  seen  my 
visitors  myself  as  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts,  with  a  slight 
laugh. 


450  PRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

"  Dear  me !"  said  Lady  Lufton.  "  I  declare  you  have 
been  very  prompt.  And  so  Miss  Robarts  is  over  there ! 
I  sliould  have  thouglit  Mr.  Crawley  would  have  made  a 
difficulty  about  the  children." 

"  Well,  he  did ;  but  they  kidnapped  them — that  is,  Lucy 
and  Mark  did.  The  dean  gave  me  such  an  account  of  it. 
Lucy  brought  them  out  by  two's  and  packed  them  in  the 
pony  carriage,  and  then  Mark  drove  off  at  a  gallop  while 
Mr.CraAvley  stood  caUing  to  them  in  the  road.  The  dean 
was  there  at  the  time,  and  saw  it  all." 

"  That  Miss  Lucy  of  yours  seems  to  be  a  very  determ- 
ined young  lady  when  she  takes  a  thing  into  her  head," 
said  Lady  Lufton,  now  sitting  down  for  the  first  time. 

"  Yes,  she  is,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts,  having  laid  aside  all 
her  pleasant  animation  for  the  discussion  which  she  dread- 
ed was  now  at  hand. 

"  A  very  determined  young  lady,"  continued  Lady  Luf- 
ton. "  Of  course,  my  dear  Fanny,  you  know  all  this  about 
Ludovic  and  your  sister-in-law  ?" 

"  Yes,  she  has  told  me  about  it."" 

"  It  is  very  unfortunate — very." 

"  I  do  not  think  Lucy  has  been  to  blame,"  said  Mrs.  Ro- 
barts; and  as  she  spoke  the  blood  was  already  mounting 
to  her  cheeks. 

"  Do  not  be  too  anxious  to  defend  her,  my  dear,  before 
any  one  accuses  her.  Whenever  a  person  does  that,  it 
looks  as  though  their  cause  were  weak." 

"  But  my  cause  is  not  w^eak  as  far  as  Lucy  is  concerned ; 
I  feel  quite  sure  that  she  has  not  been  to  blame." 

"I  know  how  obstinate  you  can  be,  Fanny,  when  you 
think:  it  necessary  to  dub  yourself  any  one's  champion. 
Don  Quixote  w\as  not  a  better  knight-errant  than  you  are. 
But  is' it  not  a  pity  to  take  up  your  lance  and  shield  before 
an  enemy  is  within  sight  or  hearing  ?  But  that  was  ever 
the  way  with  your  Don  Quixotes." 

"Perhaps  there  may  be  an  enemy  in  ambush."  That 
Avas  Mrs.  Robarts'  thought  to  herself,  but  she  did  not  dare 
to  express  it,  so  she  remained  silent. 

"  My  only  hope  is,"  continued  Lady  Lufton,  "  that  when 
my  back  is  turned  you  fight  as  gallantly  for  me." 

"  Ah  !  you  are  never  under  a  cloud,  like  poor  Lucy." 

"  Am  I  not  ?  But,  Fanny,  you  do  not  see  all  the  clouds. 
The  sun  does  not  always  shine  for  any  of  us,  and  the  down- 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  451 

pouring  rain  and  the  heavy  wind  scatter  also  my  fairest 
flowers,  as  they  have  done  hers,  poor  girl.  Dear  Fanny,  I 
hope  it  may  be  long  before  any  cloud  comes  across  the 
brightness  of  your  heaven.  Of  all  the  creatures  I  know, 
you  are  the  one  most  fitted  for  quiet  continued  sunshine." 
.  And  then  Mrs.  Robarts  did  get  up  and  embrace  her 
friend,  thus  hiding  the  tears  which  were  running  down  her 
face.  Continued  sunshine  indeed !  A  dark  spot  had  al- 
ready gathered  on  her  horizon  which  was  likely  to  fall  in 
a  very  waterspout  of  rain.  What  was  to  come  of  that  ter- 
rible notice  which  was  now  lying  in  the  desk  under  Lady 
Lufton's  very  arm  ? 

"  But  I  am  not  come  here  to  croak  like  an  old  raven," 
continued  Lady  Lufton,  when  she  had  brought  this  em- 
brace to  an  end.  "  It  is  probable  that  we  all  may  have  our 
sorrows ;  but  I  am  quite  sure  of  this — that  if  we  endeavor 
to  do  oiu*  duties  honestly,  w^e  shall  all  find  our  consolation 
and  all  have  our  joys  also.  And  now,  my  dear,  let  you  and 
I  say  a  few  words  about  this  unfortunate  afiair.  It  would 
not  be  natural  if  we  were  to  hold  our  tongues  to  each  oth- 
er, would  it  ?" 

"  I  suppose  not,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts. 

"  We  should  always  be  conceiving  worse  than  the  truth 
— each  as  to  the  other's  thoughts.  Now,  some  time  ago, 
when  I  spoke  to  you  about  your  sister-in-law  and  Ludovic 
— I  dare  say  you  remember — " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  remember — " 

"We  both  thought  then  that  there  would  really  be  no 
danger.  To  tell  you  the  plain  truth,  I  fancied,  and  indeed 
hoped,  that  his  affections  were  engaged  elsewhere ;  but  I 
was  altogether  wrong  then — wrong  in  thinking  it,  and 
wrong  in  hoping  it." 

Mrs.  Robarts  knew  well  that  Lady  Lufton  was  alluding 
to  Griselda  Grantly,  but  she  conceived  that  it  would  be 
discreet  to  say  nothing  herself  on  that  subject  at  present. 
She  remembered,  however,  Lucy's  flashing  eye  when  the 
possibility  of  Lord  Lufton  making  such  a  marriage  was 
spoken  of  in  the  pony  carriage,  and  could  not' but  feel  glad 
that  Lady  Lufton  had  been  disappointed. 

"I  do  not  at  all  impute  any  blame  to  Miss  Robarts  for 
what  has  occurred  since,"  continued  her  ladyship.  "  I  wish 
you  distinctly  to  understand  that." 

"I  do  not  see  how  any  one  could  blame  her.  She  has 
behaved  so  noblv." 


452  FEAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

"  It  is  of  no  use  inquiring  whether  any  one  can.  It  is 
sufficient  that  I  do  not." 

"  But  I  think  that  is  hardly  sufficient,"  said  Mrs.  Eo- 
barts,  pertinaciously. 

"  Is  it  not  ?"  asked  her  ladyship,  raising  her  eyebrows. 

"  No.  Only  think  what  Lucy  has  done  and  is  doing. 
If  she  had  chosen  to  say  that  she  would  accept  your  son, 
I  really  do  not  know  how  you  could  have  justly  blamed 
her.  I  do  not  by  any  means  say  that  I  would  have  advised 
such  a  thing." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,  Fanny." 

"  I  have  not  given  any  advice,  nor  is  it  needed.  I  know 
no  one  more  able  than  Lucy  to  see  clearly,  by  her  own 
judgment,  what  course  she  ought  to  pursue.  I  should  be 
afraid  to  advise  one  whose  mind  is  so  strong,  and  who,  of 
her  own  nature,  is  so  self-denying  as  she  is.  She  is  sacri- 
ficing herself  now,  because  she  Avill  not  be  the  means  of 
bringing  trouble  and  dissension  between  you  and  your  son. 
If  you  ask  me,  Lady  Lufton,  I  think  you  owe  her  a  deep 
debt  of  gratitude. .  I  do  indeed.  And  as  for  blaming  her 
— Avhat  has  she  done  that  you  possibly  could  blame  ?" 

"  Don  Quixote  on  horseback  !"  said  Lady  Lufton.  "  Fan- 
ny, I  shall  always  call  you  Don  Quixote,  and  some  day  or 
other  I  will  get  somebody  to  write  your  adventures.  But 
the  truth  is  this,  my  dear,  there  has  been  imprudence.  You 
may  call  it  mine  if  you  will,  though  I  really  hardly  see  how 
I  am  to  take  the  blame.  I  could  not  do  other  than  nsk 
Miss  Robarts  to  my  house,  and  I  could  not  very  well  turn 
my  son  out  of  it.     In  point  of  fact,  it  has  been  the  old  story." 

"Exactly;  the  story  that  is  as  old  as  the  world,  and 
which  will  continue  as  long  as  people  are  born  into  it.  It 
is  a  story  of  God's  own  telling !" 

"  But,  ray  dear  child,  you  do  not  mean  that  every  young 
gentleman  and  every  young  lady  should  fall  in  love  w^ith 
each  other  directly  they  meet !  Such  a  doctrine  would  be 
very  inconvenient." 

*'  No,  I  do  not  mean  that.  Lord  Lufton  and  Miss  Grant- 
ly  did  not  fall  in  love  with  each  other,  though  you  meant 
them  to  do  so.  But  was  it  not  quite  as  natural  that  Lord 
Lufton  and  Lucy  should  do  so  instead  ?" 

"  It  is  generally  thought,  Fanny,  that  young  ladies  should 
not  give  loose  to  their  affections  until  they  have  been  cer- 
tified of  their  friends'  approval." 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  453 

"  And  that  young  gentlemen  of  fortune  may  amuse  them- 
selves as  they  please!  I  know  that  is  what  the  world 
teaches,  but  I  can  not  agree  to  the  justice  of  it.  The  ter- 
rible suifering  which  Lucy  has  to  endure  makes  me  cry  out 
against  it.  She  did  not  seek  your  son.  The  moment  she 
began  to  suspect  that  there  might  be  danger  she  avoided 
him  scrupulously.  She  would  not  go  down  to  Framley 
Court,  though  her  not  doing  so  was  remarked  by  yourself. 
She  would  hardly  go  out  about  the  place  lest  she  should 
meet  him.  She  was  contented  to  put  herself  altogether  in 
the  background  till  he  should  have  pleased  to  leave  the 
place.  But  he — he  came  to  her  here,  and  insisted  on  see- 
ing her.  lie  found  her  when  I  was  out,  and  declared  him- 
self determined  to  speak  to  her.  What  was  she  to  do  ? 
She  did  try  to  escape,  but  he  stopped  her  at  the  door. 
Was  it  her  fault  that  he  made  her  an  offer  ?" 

*'  My  dear,  no  one  has  said  so." 

"  Yes,  but  you  do  say  so  when  you  tell  me  that  young 
ladies  should  not  give  play  to  their  affections  without  per- 
mission. He  persisted  in  saying  to  her,  here,  all  that  it 
pleased  him,  though  she  implored  him  to  be  silent.  I  can 
not  tell  the  words  she  used,  but  she  did  implore  him." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  that  she  behaved  well." 

"But  he — he  persisted,  and  begged  her  to  accept  his 
hand.  She  refused  him  then,  Lady  Lufton — not  as  some 
girls  do,  with  a  mock  reserve,  not  intending  to  be  taken  at 
their  words,  but  steadily,  and,  God  forgive  her,  untruly. 
Knowing  what  yx)ur  feelings  would  be,  and  knowing  what 
the  world  w^ould  say,  she  declared  to  him  that  he  was  in- 
different to  her.  AVhat  more  could  she  do  in  your  be- 
half?"    And  then  Mrs.  Robarts  paused. 

"  I  shall  wait  till  you  have  done,  Fanny." 

"  You  spoke  of  girls  giving  loose  to  their  affections.  She 
did  not  do  so.  She  w^ent  about  her  work  exactly  as  she 
had  done  before.  She  did  not  even  speak  to  me  of  what 
had  passed — not  then,  at  least.  She  determined  that  it 
should  all  be  as  though  it  had  never  been.  She  had  learn- 
ed to  love  your  son  ;  but  that  w^as  her  misfortune,  and  she 
would  get  over  it  as  she  might.  Tidings  came  to  us  here 
that  he  was  engaged,  or  about  to  engage  himself,  to  Miss 
Grantly." 

"  Those  tidings  were  untrue." 

"  Yes,  we  know  that  now,  but  she  did  not  know  it  then. 


454  FKAMLEY    PAKSOXAGE. 

Of  course  she  could  not  but  suiFer,  but  she  suffered  within 
herself."  Mrs.  Kobarts,  as  she  said  this,  remembered  the 
pony  carriage,  and  how  Puck  had  been  beaten.  "She 
made  no  complaint  that  he  had  ill-treated  her — not  even 
to  herself.  She  had  thought  it  right  to  reject  his  offer,  and 
there,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned,  w^as  to  be  an  end  of  it." 

"  That  would  be  a  matter  of  course,  I  should  suppose." 

"  But  it  w^as  not  a  matter  of  course,  Lady  Lnfton.  He 
returned  from  London  to  Framley  on  purpose  to  repeat  his 
offer.  He  sent  for  her  brother —  You  talk  of  a  young 
lady  waiting  for  her  friends'  aj)proval.  In  this  matter, 
who  would  be  Lucy's  friends  ?" 

"  You  and  Mr.  Kobarts,  of  course." 

"  Exactly ;  her  only  friends.  Well,  Lord  Lufton  sent  for 
Mark  and  repeated  his  offer  to  him.  Mind  you,  Mark  had 
never  heard  a  word  of  this  before,  and  you  may  guess 
whether  or  no  he  was  surprised.  Lord  Lufton  repeated 
his  offer  in  the  most  formal  manner,  and  claimed  permis- 
sion to  see  Lucy.  She  refused  to  see  him.  She  has  never 
seen  him  since  that  day  when,  in  opposition  to  all  her  ef- 
forts, he  made  his  way  into  this  room.  Mark — as  I  think 
very  properly — would  have  allowed  Lord  Lufton  to  come 
np  here.  Looking  at  both  their  ages  and  i^osition,  he  could 
have  had  no  right  to  forbid  it.  But  Lucy  positively  re- 
fused to  see  your  son,  and  sent  him  a  message  instead,  of 
the  purport  of  which  you  are  now  aware — that  she  would 
never  accept  him  unless  she  did  so  at  your  request." 

"  It  was  a  very  proper  message." 

"I  say  nothing  about  that.  Had  she  accepted  him  I 
would  not  have  blamed  her,  and  so  I  told  her,  Lady  Luf- 
ton." 

"  I  can  not  understand  your  saying  that,  Fanny." 

"  Well,  I  did  say  so.  I  don't  want  to  argue  now  about 
myself,  whether  I  was  right  or  wrong,  but  I  did  say  so. 
Whatever  sanction  I  could  give  she  would  have  had.  But 
she  again  chose  to  sacrifice  herself,  although  I  believe  she 
regards  him  with  as  true  a  love  as  ever  a  girl  felt  for  a 
man.  Upon  my  word,  I  don't  know  that  she  is  right. 
Those  considerations  for  the  world  may  perhaps  be  carried 
too  far." 

"I  think  that  she  was  perfectly  right." 

"  Very  well,  Lady  Lufton ;  I  can  understand  that.  But, 
after  such  sacrifice  on  her  part — ^a  sacrifice  made  entirely 


FKAMLEY    PAKSOXAGE.  465 

to  you — how  can  you  talk  of '  not  blaming  her  ?'  Is  that 
the  language  in  which  you  speak  of  those  whose  conduct 
from  first  to  last  has  been  superlatively  excellent?  If  she 
is  open  to  blame  at  all,  it  is — it  is — " 

But  here  Mrs.  Robarts  stopped  herself  In  defending 
her  sister  she  had  worked  herself  almost  into  a  passion ; 
but  such  a  state  of  feeling  was  not  customary  to  her,  and 
now  that  she  had  spoken  her  mind  she  sank  suddenly  into 
silence. 

*'  It  seems  to  me,  Fanny,  that  you  almost  regret  Miss  Ro- 
barts' decision,"  said  Lady  Lufton. 

"  My  wish  in  this  matter  is  for  her  happiness,  and  I  re- 
gret any  thing  that  may  mar  it." 

"You  think  nothing, then,  of  our  welfiire;  and  yet  I  do 
not  know  to  whom  I  might  have  looked  for  hearty  friend- 
ship and  for  sympathy  in  difficulties,  if  not  to  you." 

Poor  Mrs.  Robarts  was  almost  upset  by  this.  A  few 
months  ago,  before  Lucy's  arrival,  she  would  have  declared 
that  the  interests  of  Lady  Lufton's  family  would  have  been 
paramount  Avith  her,  after  and  next  to  those  of  her  own 
husband.  And  even  now  it  seemed  to  argue  so  black  an 
ingratitude  on  her  part — this  accusation  that  she  was  in- 
different to  them!  From  her  childhood  upward  she  had 
revered  and  loved  Lady  Lufton,  and  for  years  had  taught 
herself  to  regard  her  as  an  epitome  of  all  that  was  good 
and  gracious  in  woman.  Lady  Lufton's  theories  of  life 
had  been  accepted  by  her  as  the  right  theories,-  and  those 
whom  Lady  Lufton  had  hked  she  had  liked.  But  now  it 
seemed  that  all  these  ideas  which  it  had  taken  a  life  to  build 
up  were  to  be  thrown  to  the  ground,  because  she  was 
bound  to  defend  a  sister-in-law  whom  she  had  only  known* 
for  the  last  eight  months.  It  was  not  that  she  regretted 
a  word  that  she  had  spoken  on  Lucy's  behalf  Chance  had 
thrown  her  and  Lucy  together,  and,  as  Lucy  was  her  sis- 
ter, she  should  receive  from  her  a  sister's  treatment.  But 
she  did  not  the  less  feel  how  terrible  would  be  the  effect 
of  any  disseveranca  from  Lady  Lufton. 

"  Oh  Lady  Lufton,"  she  said,  "do  not  say  that." 

"  But,  Fanny,  dear,  I  must  speak  as  I  find.  You  were 
talking  about  clouds  just  now,  and  do  you  think  that  all 
this  is  not  a  cloud  in  my  sky  ?  Ludovic  tells  me  that  he  is 
attached  to  Miss  Robarts,  and  you  tell  me  that  she  is  at- 
tached to  him,  and  I  am  called  upon  to  decide  between 
them.     Her  very  act  oblij^es  me  to  do  po." 


456  FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

"  Dear  Lady  Lnfton !"  said  Mrs.  Robarts,  springing  from 
her  seat.  It  seemed  to  her  at  the  moment  as  though  tlie 
whole  difficulty  were  to  be  solved  by  an  act  of  grace  on 
the  part  of  her  old  friend. 

"  And  yet  I  can  not  approve  of  such  a  marriage,"  said 
Lady  Lufton. 

Mrs.  Robarts  returned  to  her  seat,  saying  nothing  far- 
ther. 

"Is  not  that  a  cloud. on  one't*  horizon?"  continued  her 
ladyship.  "Do  you  think  that  I  can  be  basking  in  the 
sunshine  while  I  have  such  a  weight  upon  my  heart  as  that. 
Ludovic  Avill  soon  be  home,  but  instead  of  looking  to  his 
return  Avith  pleasure  I  dread  it.  I  would  prefer  that  he 
should  remain  in  Norway.  I  would  wish  that  he  should 
stay  away  for  months.  And,  Fanny,  it  is  a  great  addition 
to  my  misfortune  to  feel  that  you  do  not  sympathize  with 
me." 

Having  said  this,  in  a  slow,  sorrowful,  and  severe  tone. 
Lady  Lufton  got  up  and  took  her  departure.  Of  course 
Mrs.  Robarts  did  not  let  her  go  without  assuring  her  that 
she  did  sympathize  with  her — did  love  her  as  she  ever  had 
loved  her.  But  wounds  can  not  be  cured  as  easily  as  they 
may  be  inflicted,  and  Lady  Lufton  went  her  way  with  much 
real  sorrow  at  her  heart.  She  was  proud  and  masterful, 
fond  of  her  own  way,  and  much  too  careful  of  the  worldly 
dignities  to  which  her  lot  had  called  her;  but  she  was  a 
woman  who  could  cause  no  sorrow  to  those  she  loved  with- 
out deep  sorrow  to  herself. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

TOUCHING     PITCH. 


In  these  hot  midsummer  days,  the  end  of  June  and  the 
beginnings  of  July,  Mr.  Sowerby  had  but  an  uneasy  time  of 
it.  At  his  sister's  instance,  he  had  hurried  up  to  London, 
and  there  had  remained  for  days  in  attendance  on  the  law- 
yers. He  had  to  see  new  lawyers.  Miss  Dunstable's  men 
of  business,  quiet  old  cautious  gentlemen,  whose  place  of 
business  was  in  a  dark  alley  behind  the  Bank,  Messrs.  Slow 
and  Bideawhile  by  name,  who  had  no  scruple  in  detaining 
him  for  hours  while  they  or  their  clerks  talked  to  him  about 
any  thing  or  about  nothing.     It  was  of  vital  consequence 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  457 

to  Mr.  Sowerby  tliat  this  business  of  his  should  be  settled 
without  delay,  and  yet  these  men,  to  whose  care  this  set- 
tling was  now  confided,  went  on  as  though  law  processes 
were  a  sunny  bank  on  which  it  delighted  men  to  bask  easi- 
ly. And  then,  too,  he  had  to  go  more  than  once  to  South 
Audley  Street,  which  Avas  a  worse  infliction ;  for  the  men 
in  South  Audley  Street  were  less  civil  now  than  had  been 
their  wont.  It  was  well  understood  there  that  Mr.  Sow- 
erby w\as  no  longer  a  client  of  the  d«ke's,  but  his  oppo- 
nent ;  no  longer  his  nominee  and  dependent,  but  his  enemy 
in  the  county.  "  Chaldicotes,"  as  old  Mr.  Gumption  re- 
marked to  young  Mr.  Gagebee,  "  Chaldicotes,  Gagebee,  is 
a  cooked  goose,  as  far  as  Sowerby  is  concerned.  And  w^hat 
difference  could  it  make  to  him  whether  the  duke  is  to  own 
it  or  Miss  Dunstable?  For  my  part,  I  can  not  understand 
how  a  gentleman  like  Sowerby  can  like  to  sec  his  property 
go  into  the  hands  of  a  gallipot  Avench  whose  money  still 
smells  of  bad  drugs.  And  nothing  can  be  more  ungrate- 
ful," he  said,  "  than  Sowerby's  conduct,  lie  has  held  the 
county  for  five-and-twenty  years  without  exj^ense,  and  now 
that  the  time  for  payment  has  come,  he  begrudges  the 
price."  He  called  it  no  better  than  cheating,  he  did  not — 
he,  Mr.  Gumption.  According  to  his  ideas,  Sowerby  was 
attempting  to  cheat  the  duke.  It  may  be  imagined,  there- 
fore, that  Mr.  Sowerby  did  not  feel  any  very  great  delight 
in  attending  at  South  Audley  Street. 

And  then  rumor  -was  spread  about  among  all  the  bill- 
discounting  leeches  that  blood  was  once  more  to  be  sucked 
from  the  Sowerby  carcase.  The  rich  Miss  Dunstable  had 
taken  up  his  affairs ;  so  much  as  that  became  known  in  the 
purlieus  of  the  Goat  and  Compasses.  Tom  Tozer's  brother 
declared  that  she  and  Sowerby  were  going  to  make  a  match 
of  it,  and  tliat  any  scrap  of  paper  with  Sowerby's  name  on 
it  would  become  worth  its  weight  in  bank-notes ;  but  Tom 
Tozer  himself — Tom,  who  was  the  real  hero  of  the  family 
— pooh-poohed  at  this,  screwing  up  his  nose,  and  alluding 
in  most  contemptuous  terms  to  his  brother's  softness.  He 
knew  better  —  as  Avas  indeed  the  fact.  Miss  Dunstable 
was  buying  up  the  squire,  and,  by  jingo !  she  should  buy 
them  u[) — them,  the  Tozers,  as  well  as  others.  They  knew 
their  value,  the  Tozers  did,  whereupon  they  became  more 
than  ordinarily  active. 

From  them"  and  all  their  brethren  Mr.  Sowerby  at  this 

u 


458  FEAifLEY   PARSONAGE. 

time  endeavored  to  keep  bis  distance,  but  bis  endeavors 
were  not  altogether  effectual.  Whenever  be  could  escape 
for  a  day  or  two  from  tbe  lawyers,  be  ran  down  to  Chaldi- 
cotes ;  but  Tdni  Tozer,  in  bis  perseverance,  followed  bim 
there,  and  boldly  sent  in  his  name  by  tbe  servant  at  tbe 
front  door. 

"Mr.  Sowerby  is  not  just  at  home  at  tbe  present  mo- 
ment," said  the  well-trained  domestic. 

"  I'll  wait  about  tlien,"  said  Tom,  seating  himself  on  an 
heraldic  stone  griflSn  which  flanked  the  big  stone  steps  be- 
fore the  house.  And  in  this  way  Mr.  Tozer  gained  his 
purpose.  Sowerby  w^as  still  contesting  tbe  county,  and  it 
behooved  him  not  to  let  his  enemies  say  that  be  was  hid- 
ing himself  It  bad  been  a  part  of  bis  bargain  with  Miss 
Dunstable  that  be  should  contest  the  county.  She  bad 
taken  it  into  her  head  that  the  duke  had  behaved  badly, 
and  she  had  resolved  that  he  should  be  made  to  pay  for  it. 
"  The  duke,"  she  said,  "  had  meddled  long  enough ;"  she 
would  now  see  whether  the  Chaldicotes  interest  would  not 
suflice  of  itself  to  return  a  member  for  the  county,  even  in 
opposition  to  the  duke.  Mr.  Sowerby  himself  was  so  har- 
assed at  the  time,  that  he  would  have  given  way  on  this 
point  if  be  bad  had  the  power ;  but  Miss  Dunstable  was 
determined,  and  be  was  obliged  to  yield  to  her.  In  this, 
manner  Mr.  Tom  Tozer  succeeded  and  did  make  his  way 
into  Mr.  Sowerby's  presence,  of  which  intrusion  one  effect 
was  the  following  letter  from  Mr.  Sowerby  to  his  friend 
Mark  Robarts : 

•'Chaldicotes,  July,  185-. 
"  My  deak  Rocabts, — I  am  so  harassed  at  the  present  moment  by 
an  infinity  of  troubles  of  my  own  that  I  am  almost  callous  to  those  of 
other  people.  They  say  that  prosperity  makes  a  man  selfish.  I  have 
never  tried  that,  but  I  am  quite  sure  that  advereity  does  so.  Neverthe- 
less, I  am  anxious  about  those  bills  of  yours" — 

"  Bills  of  mine !"  said  Robarts  to  himself,  as  he  walked 
up  and  down  tbe  shrubbery  path  at  the  Parsonage,  read- 
ing this  letter.  This  happened  a  day  or  two  after  his  visit 
to  the  lawyer  at  Barcbester. 

* '  —  and  would  rejoice  greatly  if  I  thought  that  I  could  save  you  from 
any  farther  annoyance  about  them.  That  kite,  Tom  Tozer,  has  just 
been  with  me,  and  insists  that  both  of  them  shall  be  paid.  He  knows — 
no  one  better — that  no  consideration  was  given  for  the  latter.  But  he 
knows  also  that  the  dealing  was  not  with  him,  nor  even  with  his  broth- 
er, and  he  will  be  prepared  to  swear  that  he  gave  value  for  both.     He 


FRAMLEY   PAKSONAGE.  459 

would  swear  any  thing  for  five  hundred  pounds-^r  for  half  the  money, 
for  that  matter.  I  do  not  think  that  the  father  of  mischief  ever  let  loose 
upon  the  world  a  greater  rascal  than  Tom  Tozer. 

"He  declares  that  nothing  shall  induce  him  to  take  one  shilling  less 
than  the  whole  sura  of  nine  hundred  pounds.  He  has  been  brought  to 
this  by  hearing  that  my  debts  are  about  to  be  paid.  Heaven  help  me ! 
The  meaning  of  that  is  that  these  wretched  acres,  which  are  now  mort- 
gaged to  one  millionaire,  are  to  change  hands  and  be  mortgaged  to  an- 
other instead.  By  this  exchange  I  may  possibly  obtain  the  benefit  of 
having  a  house  to  live  in  for  the  next  twelve  months,  but  no  other. 
Tozer,  however,  is  altogether  wrong  in  his  scent ;  and  the  worst  of  it  is, 
that,  his  malice  will  fall  on  you  rather  than  on  me. 

"What  I  want  you  to  do  is  this:  let  us  pay  him  one  hundred  pounds 
between  us.  Though  I  sell  the  last  soiTy  jade  of  a  horse  I  have,  I  will 
make  up  fifty,  and  I  know  you  can,  at  any  rate,  do  as  much  as  that. 
Then  do  you  accept  a  bill,  conjointly  with  me,  for  eight  hundred.  It 
shall  be  done  in  Forrest's  presence,  and  handed  to  him,  and  you  shall 
receive  back  the  two  old  bills  into  your  own  hands  at  the  same  time. 
This  new  bill  should  be  timed  to  run  ninety  days,  and  I  will  move  heav- 
en and  earth  during  that  time  to  have  it  included  in  the  general  sched- 
ule of  my  debts  which  are  to  be  secured  on  the  Chaldicotes  property." 

The  meaning  of  which  was  that  Miss  Dunstable  was  to  be 
cozened  into  paying  the  money  under  an  idea  that  it  was 
part  of  the  sum  covered  by  the  existing  mortgage. 

"What  you  said  the  other  day  at  Barchcster  as  to  never  executing 
another  bill  is  very  well  as  regards  future  transactions.  Nothing  can  be 
wiser  than  such  a  resolution.  But  it  would  b3  folly — worse  than  folly — 
if  you  were  to  allow  your  fumitui-e  to  be  seized  when  the  means  of  pre- 
venting it  is  so  ready  to  your  hand.  By  leaving  the  new  bill  in  For- 
rest's hands  you  may  be  sure  that  you  are  safe  from  the  claws  of  such 
birds  of  prey  as  these  Tozers.  Even  if  I  can  not  get  it  settled  when  tha 
three  months  are  over,  Forrest  will  enable  you  to  make  any  arrangement 
that  may  be  most  convenient. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  my  dear  fellow,  do  not  refuse  this.  You  can 
hardly  conceive  how  it  weighs  upon  me,  this  fear  that  bailiffs  should 
make  their  way  into  your  wife's  drawing-room.  I  know  you  think  ill 
of  me,  and  I  do  not  wonder  at  it.  But  you  would  be  less  inclined  to  do 
so  if  you  knew  how  terribly  I  am  punished.  Pray  let  me  hear  that  you 
will  do  as  I  counsel  you. 

"Yours  always  faithfully,  N.  Sowebby." 

In  answer  to  which  the  parson  wrote  a  very  short  reply  •. 

"Framley,  July,  18,>-. 
"Mt  dear  Sowerbt, — I  will  sign  no  more  bills  on  any  considera- 
tion. Yours  truly,  Mark  lioBAnxs." 

And  then,  having  written  this,  and  having  shown  it  to  his 
wife,  he  returned  to  the  shrubbery  walk  and  i)aced  it  up 
and  down,  looking  every  now  and  then  at  Sowcrby's  lette? 


460  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

as  he  thought  over  all  the  j^ast  circumstances  of  his  friend- 
ship witli  that  gentleman. 

Tliat  the  man  who  had  written  this  letter  should  be  his 
friend — that  very  fact  was  a  disgrace  to  him.  Sowerby 
so  Avell  knew  himself  and  his  own  reputation,  that  he  did 
not  dare  to  suppose  that  his  own  word  would  be  taken  for 
any  thing,  not  even  when  the  thing  promised  was  an  act 
of  the  commonest  honesty.  "The  old  bills  shall  be  given 
back  into  your  own  hands,"  he  had  declared  with  energy, 
knowing  that  his  friend  and  correspondent  would  not  feel 
himself  secure  against  farther  fraud  under  any  less  stringent 
guarantee.  This  gentleman,  this  county  member,  the  own- 
er of  Chaldicotes,  with  whom  Mark  Robarts  had  been  so 
anxious  to  be  on  terms  of  intimacy,  had  now  come  to  such 
a  phase  of  life  that  he  had  given  over  speaking  of  himself 
as  an  honest  man.  He  hac]  become  so  used  to  suspicion 
that  he  argued  of  it  as  of  a  thing  of  course.  He  knew  that 
no  one  could  trust  either  his  spoken  or  his  written  word, 
and  he  was  content  to  speak  and  to  write  without  attempt- 
ing to  hide  this  conviction. 

And  this  was  the  man  Avhom  he  had  been  so  glad  to  call 
his  friend ;  for  whose  sake  he  had  been  Avilling  to  quarrel 
with  Lady  Lufton,  and  at  whose  instance  he  had  uncon- 
sciously abandoned  so  many  of  the  best  resolutions  of  his 
life.  He  looked  back  now,  as  he  walked  there  slowly,  still 
holding  the  letter  in  his  hand,  to  the  day  Avhen  he  had  stop- 
ped at  the  school-house  and  written  his  letter  to  Mr.  Sower- 
by, promising  to  join  the  party  at  Chaldicotes.  He  had 
been  so  eager  then  to  have  his  own  w^ay,  that  he  would  not 
permit  himself  to  go  home  and  talk  the  matter  over  with 
his  wife.  He  thought  also  of  the  manner  in  which  he  had 
been  tempted  to  the  house  of  the  Duke  of  Omnium,  and 
the  conviction  on  his  mind  at  the  time  that  his  giving  way 
to  that  temptation  would  surely  bring  him  to  evil.  And 
then  he  remembered  the  evening  in  Sowerby's  bedroom, 
when  the  bill  had  been  brought  out,  and  he  had  allowed 
himself  to  be  jDcrsnaded  to  put  his  name  upon  it  — not  be- 
cause he  was  willing  in  this  Avay  to  assist  his  friend,  but 
because  he  was  unable  to  refuse.  He  had  lacked  the  cour- 
age to  say  "  No,"  though  he  knew  at  the  tune  how  gross 
was  the  error  Av^hich  he  was  committing.  Pie  had  lacked 
the  courage  to  say  "  No,"  and  hence  had  come  upon  him 
and  on  his  household  all  this  misery  and  cause  for  bitter 
repentance. 


FEAMLEY    PAIiSONAGE.  461 

I  have  written  much  of  clergymen,  but  in  doing  so  I 
have  endeavored  to  portray  theni  as  they  bear  on  our  so- 
cial life  rather  than  to  describe  the  mode  and  working  of 
their  professional  careers.  Had  I  done  the  latter,  I  could 
hardly  have  steered  clear  of  subjects  on  which  it  has  not 
been  my  intention  to  pronounce  an  opinion,  and  I  should 
either  have  laden  my  fiction  with  sermons,  or  I  should  have 
degraded  my  sermons  into  fiction.  Therefore  I  have  said 
but  little  in  my  narrative  of  this  man's  feelings  or  doings 
as  a  clei-gymau. 

But  I  must  protest  against  its  being  on  this  account  con- 
sidered tli^t  Mr.  Robarts  was  indifierent  to  the  duties  of 
his  clerical  position.  He  had  been  fond  of  pleasure,  and 
had  given  way  to  temptation,  as  is  so  customarily  done  by 
young  men  of  six-and-twenty,  who  are  placed  beyond  con- 
trol and  who  have  means  at  command.  Had  he  remained 
as  a  curate  till  that  age,  subject  in  all  his  movements  to  the 
eye  of  a  superior,  he  would,  we  may  say,  have  put  his  name 
to  no  bills,  have  ridden  after  no  hounds,  have  seen  nothing 
of  the  iniquities  of  Gatherum  Castle.  There  are  men  of 
twenty-six  as  fit  to  stand  alone  as  ever  they  will  be — fit  to 
be  prime  ministers,  heads  of  schools,  judges  on  the  bench — 
almost  fit  to  be  bishops ;  but  Mark  Robarts  had  not  been 
one  of  them.  He  had  within  him  many  aptitudes  for  good, 
but  not  the  strengthened  courage  of  a  man  to  act  up  to 
them.  The  stufif  of  which  his  manhood  was  to  be  formed 
had  been  slow  of  growth,  as  it  is  with  many  men,  and,  con- 
sequently, when  temptation  was  ofiered  to  him,  he  had  fall- 
en. 

But  he  deeply  grieved  over  his  own  stumbling,  and  from 
time  to  time,  as  his  periods  of  penitence  came  upon  him, 
he  resolved  that  he  would  once  more  put  liis  shoulder  to 
the  wheel  as  became  one  who  fights  uj)on  earth  that  battle 
for  which  he  had  put  on  his  armor.  Over  and  over  again 
did  he  think  of  those  words  of  Mr.  Crawley,  and  now,  as  he 
walked  up  and  down  the  path,  crumpling  Mr.  Sowerby's 
letter  in  his  hand,  he  thought  of  them  again:  "It  is  a  ter- 
rible falling  off;  terrible  in  the  fall,  but  doubly  terrible 
through  that  difficulty  of  returning."  Yes,  that  is  a  diffi- 
culty which  multiplies  itself  in  a  fearful  ratio  as  one  goes 
on  pleasantly  running  down  the  path — whitherward  ?  Had 
it  come  to  that  with  him  that  he  could  not  return  ?  that  he 
could  never  again  hold  up  his  head  Avitli  a  safe  conscience 


462  FRAMI.EY  PARSONAGE. 

as  the  i^astor  of  his  parish  ?  It  was  Sowerby  who  had  leci 
him  into  this  misery,  who  had  brought  on  him  this  ruin. 
But  then  had  not  Sowerby  paid  him  ?  Had  not  that  stall 
which  he  now  held  in  Barchester  been  Sowerby's  gift? 
He  was  a  poor  man  now — a  distressed,  poverty-stricken 
man ;  but,  nevertheless,  he  wished  with  all  his  heart  that 
he  had  never  become  a  sharer  in  the  good  things  of  tho 
Barchester  chapter. 

"  I  shall  resign  the  stall,"  he  said  to  his  wife  that  night. . 
"I  think  I  may  say  that  I  have  made  up  my  mind  as  to 
that." 

"But,  Mark,  will  not  people  say  that  it  is  odc^?" 

"I  can  not  help  it — they  must  say  it.  Fanny,  I  fear 
that  we  shall  have  to  bear  the  saying  of  harder  words  than 
that." 

"  N^obody  can  ever  say  that  you  have  done  .iny  thing 
that  is  unjust  or  dishonorable.  If  there  are  such  men  as 
Mr.  Sowerby — " 

"  The  blackness  of  his  fault  will  not  excuse  mine."  And 
then  again  he  sat  silent,  hiding  his  eyes,  while  his  wife,  sit- 
ting by  him,  held  his  hand. 

"  Don't  make  yourself  wretched,  Mark.  Matters  will  all 
come  right  yet.  It  can  not  be  that  the  loss  of  a  few  hund- 
red pounds  should  ruin  you." 

"It  is  not  the  money — it  is  not  the  money  !" 

"But  you  have  done  nothing  wrong,  Mark." 

"  How  am  I  to  go  into  the  church,  and  take  my  place 
before  them  all,  when  every  one  will  know  that  bailiffs  are 
in  the  house  ?"  And  then,  dropping  his  liead  on  to  the  ta- 
ble, he  sobbed  aloud. 

Mark  Robarts'  mistake  had  been  mainly  this — he  had 
thought  "to  touch  pitch  and  not  to  be  defiled.  He,  looking 
out  from  his  pleasant  parsonage  into  the  pleasant  upper 
ranks  of  the  world  aroimd  him,  had  seen  that  men  and 
things  in  those  quarters  were  very  engaging.  His  own 
parsonage,  with  his  sweet  wife,  were  exceedingly  dear  to 
him,  and  Lady  Lufton's  affectionate  friendship  had  its  value; 
but.  were  not  these  things  rather  dull  for  one  who  had  lived 
in  the  best  sets  at  Harrow  and  Oxford,  unless,  indeed,  he 
could  supplement  them  with  some  occasional  bursts  of 
more  lively  life?  Cakes  and  ale  were  as  pleasant  to  his 
palate  as  to  the  palates  of  those  with  whom  he  had  former- 
ly lived  at  college.     He  had  the  same  eye  to  look  at  a 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  463 

horse,  and  the  same  heart  to  make  him  go  across  a  countiy 
as  they.  And  then,  too,  lie  found  that  men  Hked  him — 
men  and  women  also — men  and  women  who  were  high  in 
worldly  standing.  His  ass's  ears  were  tickled,  and  he  learn- 
ed to  fancy  that  he  was  intended  by  nature  for  the  society 
of  high  people.  It  seemed  as  though  he  were  following 
his  appointed  course  in  meeting  men  and  women  of  the 
world  at  the  houses  of  the  fashionable  and  the  rich.  He 
was  not  the  first  clergyman  that  had  so  lived  and  had  so 
prospered.  Yes,  clergymen  had  so  lived,  and  had  done 
their  duties  in  their  sphere  of  life  altogether  to  the- satis- 
faction of  their  countrymen — and  of  their  sovereigns. 
Thus  Mark  Robarts  had  determined  that  he  would  touch 
pitch,  and  escape  defilement  if  that  w^ere  possible.  With 
what  result  those  who  have  read  so  far  will  have  perceived* 

Late  on  the  following  afternoon,  who  should  drive  up  ta 
the  Parsonage  door  but  Mr.  Forrest,  the  bank  managet 
from  Barchester — Mr.  Forrest,  to  Avhom  Sowerby  had  al- 
ways pointed  as  the  Deus  ex  machina  who,  if  duly  invoked- 
could  relieve  them  all  from  their  present  troubles,  and  dis- 
miss the  whole  Tozer  family — not  howling  into  the  wilder- 
ness, as  one  would  have  wished  to  do  with  that  brood  of 
Tozers,  but  so  gorged  with  prey  that  from  them  no  farther 
annoyance  need  be  dreaded.  All  this  Mr.  Forrest  could 
do ;  nay,  more,  most  willingly  would  do.  Only  let  Mark 
Robarts  put  himself  into  the  banker's  hand,  and  blandly 
sign  what  documents  the  banker  might  desire. 

"  This  is  a  very  unpleasant  affair,"  said  Mr.  Forrest,  as 
soon  as  they  were  closeted  together  in  Mark's  bookroom ; 
in  answer  to  which  observation  the  parson  acknowledged 
that  it  was  a  very  unpleasant  affair. 

"  Mr.  Sowerby  has  managed  to  put  you  into  the  hands 
of  about  the  worst  set  of  rogues  now  existing,  in  their  line 
of  business,  in  London." 

"  So  I  supposed ;  Curling  told  me  the  same."  Curling 
was  the  Barchester  attorney  whose  aid  he  had  lately  in- 
voked. 

"  Curling  has  threatened  them  that  he  will  expose  their 
whole  trade ;  but  one  of  them  who  was  down  here,  a  man 
named  Tozer,  replied  that  you  had  much  more  to  lose  by 
exposure  than  he  had.  He  went  farther,  and  declared  that 
he  would  defy  any  jury  in  England  to  refuse  him  his  mon- 
ey.    He  swore  that  he  discounted  both  bills  in  the  regular 


464  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

way  of  business ;  and,  though  this  is  of  course  false,  I  fear 
that  it  will  be  impossible  to  prove  it  so.  He  well  knows 
that  you  are  a  clergyman,  and  that,  tlierefore,  he  has  a 
stronger  hold  on  you  than  on  other  men." 

"The  disgrace  shall  fall  on  Sowerby,"  said  Robarts, 
hardly  actuated  at  the  moment  by  any  strong  feeling  of 
Christian  forgiveness. 

"  I  fear,  Mr.  Kobarts,  that  he  is  somewhat  in  the  condi- 
tion of  the  Tozers.     He  will  not  feel  it  as  you  will  do." 

"  I  must  bear  it,  Mr.  Forrest,  as  best  I  may." 

"  Will  you  allow  me,  Mr.  Robarts,  to  give  you  my  ad- 
vice. Perhaps  I  ought  to  apologize  for  intruding  it  upon 
you ;  but  as  the  bills  have  been  presented  and  dishonored 
across  iny  counter,  I  have,  of  necessity,  become  acquainted 
with  the  circumstances." 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  Mark. 

"  You  must  pay  this  money,  or,  at  any  rate,  the  most  con- 
siderable portion  of  it — the  whole  of  it,  indeed,  with  such 
deduction  as  a  lawyer  may  be  able  to  induce  these  hawks 
to  make  on  the  sight  of  the  ready  money.  Perhaps  £750 
or  £800  may  see  you  clear  of  the  whole  affair." 

"But  I  have  not  a  quarter  of  that  sum  lying  by  me." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not ;  but  what  I  would  recommend  is 
this :  that  you  should  borrow  the  money  from  the  bank  on 
your  own  responsibility,  with  the  joint  security  of  some 
friend  who  may  be  willing  to  assist  you*  with  his  name. 
Lord  Lufton  probably  would  do  it." 

"  No,  Mr.  Forrest— " 

"  Listen  to  me  first,  before  you  make  up  your  mind.  If 
you  took  this  step,  of  course  you  would  do  so  with  the  fixed 
intention  of  paying  the  money  yourself,  without  any  farther 
reliance  on  Sowerby  or  on  any  one  else." 

"  I  shall  not  rely  on  Mr.  Sowerby  again,  vou  may  be  sure 
of  that." 

"  What  I  mean  is  that  you  must  teach  yourself  to  recog- 
nize the  debt  as  your  own.  If  you  can  do  that,  with  your 
income  you  can  surely  pay  it,  with  interest,  in  two  years. 
If  Lord  Lufton  will  assist  you  with  his  name,  I  will  so  ar- 
range the  bills  that  the  payments  shall  be  made  to  fall 
equally  over  that  period.  In  that  way  the  world  will  know 
nothing  about  it,  and  in  two  years'  time  you  will  once  more 
be  a  fiee  man.  Many  men,  Mr.  Robarts,  have  bought  their 
experience  much  dearer  than  that,  I  can  assure  you." 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  465 

"Mr.  Forrest,  it  is  quite  out  of  the  question." 

"  You  mean  that  Lord  Lufton  will  not  give  you  his  name  ?" 

"  I  certainly  shall  not  ask  liim ;  but  that  is  not  all.  In 
the  first  place,  my  income  will  not  be  what  you  think  it,  for 
I  shall  probably  give  up  the  prebend  at  Barchester." 

"  Give  up  the  prebend !  give  up  six  hundred  a  year !" 

"And,  beyond  this,  I  think  I  may  say  that  nothing  shall 
tempt  me  to  put  my  name  to  another  bill.  I  have  learned 
a  lesson  Avhich  I  hope  I  may  never  forget." 

"  Then  what  do  you  intend  to  do  ?" 

"  Nothing." 

"Then  those  men  will  sell  every  stick  of  furniture  about 
the  place.  They  know  that  your  property  here  is  enough 
to  secure  all  that  they  claim." 

"  If  they  have  the  power,  they  must  sell  it." 

"  And  all  the  world  will  know  the  facts." 

"  So  it  must  be.  •  Of  the  faults  which  a  man  commits  he 
must  bear  the  punishment.     If  it  were  only  myself!" 

"  That's  where  it  is,  Mr.  Robarts.  Think  what  your  wife 
will  have  to  suffer  in  going  through  such  misery  as  that ! 
You  had  better  take  my  advice.    Lord  Lufton,  I  am  sure — " 

But  the  very  name  of  Lord  Lufton,  his  sister's  lover, 
again  gave  him  courage.  He  thought,  too,  of  the  accusa- 
tions which  Lord  Lufton  had  brought  against  him  on  that 
night  when  he  had  come  to  him  in  the  coffee-room  of  the 
hotel,  and  he  felt  that  it  was  impossible  that  he  should  ap- 
ply to  him  for  such  aid.  It  would  be  better  to  tell  all  to 
Lady  Lufton.  That  she  would  relieve  him,  let  the  cost  to 
herself  be  what  it  might,  he  was  very  sure.  Only  this — 
that  in  looking  to  her  for  assistance  he  would  be  forced  to 
bite  the  dust  in  very  deed. 

"  Thank  you,.  Mr.  Forrest ;  but  I  have  made  up  my  mind. 
Do  nob  think  that  I  am  the  less  obliged  to  you  for  your  dis- 
interested kindness,  for  I  know  that  it  is  disinterested ;  but 
this  I  think  I  may  confidently  say,  that  not  even  to  avert 
so  terrible  a  calamity  will  I  again  put  my  name  to  any  bill. 
Even  if  you  could  take  my  own  promise  to  pay  without 
the  addition  of  any  second  name,  I  would  not  do  it." 

There  was  nothing  for  Mr.  Forrest  to  do  under  such  cir- 
cumstances but  simjily  to  drive  back  to  Barchester.  He 
had  done  the  best  for  the  young  clergyman  according  to 
his  lights,  and  ])erhnps,  in  a  worldly  view,  his  advice  had 
not  been  bad.     But  Mark  dreaded  the  very  name  of  a  bill. 

1-2 


466  FRAMLEY   PAKSONAGE. 

He  was  as  a  dog  that  had  been  terribly  scorched,  and  noth- 
ing should  again  induce  him  to  go  near  the  fire. 

"  Was  not  that  the  man  from  the  bank  ?"  said  Fanny, 
coming  into  the  room  when  the  sound  of  the  wheels  had 
died  away. 

"Yes;  Mr. Forrest." 
"Well,  dearest?" 

"  We  must  prepare  ourselves  for  the  worst." 
"  You  will  not  sign  any  more  papers,  eh,  Mark  ?" 
"  'No ;  I  have  just  now  positively  refused  to  do  so." 
"  Then  I  can  bear  any  thing.     But,  dearest,  dearest  Mark, 
v/ill  you  not  let  me  tell  Lady  Lufton  ?" 

Let  them  look  at  the  matter  in  any  w^ay,  the  punishment 
was  very  heavy. 


CHAPTER  XLIH. 

IS    SHE   NOT   INSIGNIFICANT? 


And  now  a  month  went  by  at  Framley  without  any  in- 
crease of  comfort  to  our  friends  there,  and  also  without  any 
absolute  development  of  the  ruin  which  had  been  daily  ex- 
pected at  the  Parsonage.  Sundry  letters  had  reached  Mr. 
Robarts  from  various  personages  acting  in  the  Tozer  inter- 
est, all  of  which  he  referred  to  Mr.  Curling,  of  Barchester. 
Some  of  these  letters  contained  prayers  for  the  money, 
pointing  out  how  an  innocent  widow  lady  had  been  in- 
duced to  invest  her  all  on  the  faith  of  Mr.  Robarts'  name, 
and  was  now  starving  in  a  garret,  with  her  three  children, 
because  Mr.  Robarts  would  not  make  good  his  own  under- 
takings. But  the  majority  of  them  were  filled  with  threats 
— only  two  days  longer  would  be  allowed,  and  then  the 
sheriff's  officers  would  be  enjoined  to  do  their  work ;  then 
one  day  of  grace  would  be  added,  at  the  expiration  of  which 
the  dogs  of  war  would  be  unloosed.  These,  as  fast  as  they 
came,  Avere  sent  to  Mr.  Curling,  who  took  no  notice  of  them 
individually,  but  continued  his  endeavor  to  prevent  the  evil 
day.  The  second  bill  Mr.  Robarts  would  take  up — such 
was  Mr.  Curling's  proposition — and  would  pay  by  two  in- 
stallments of  £250  each,  the  first  m  two  months,  and  the 
second  in  four.  If  this  were  acceptable  to  the  Tozer  in- 
terest, well ;  if  it  were  not,  the  sheriff's  officers  must  do 
their  worst,  and  the  Tozer  interest  must  look  for  what  it 


FKAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  467 

could  get.  The  Tozer  interest  would  not  declare  itself 
salisfied  with  these  terms,  and  so  the  matter  went  on ;  dur- 
ing which  the  roses  faded  from  day  to  day  on  tlie  cheeks 
of  Mrs.  Robarts,  as  under  such  circumstances  may  easily 
be  conceived. 

In  the  mean  time  Lucy  still  remained  at  Hogglestock, 
and  had  there  become  absolute  mistress  of  the  house.  Poor 
Mrs.  Crawley  had  been  at  death's  door;  for  some  days  she 
was  deHrious,  and  afterward  remained  so  weak  as  to  be  al- 
most unconscious ;  but  now  the  worst  was  over,  and  Mr. 
Crawley  had  been  informed  that,  as  far  as  liuman  judg- 
ment might  pronounce,  his  children  would  not  become  or- 
phans, nor  would  he  become  a  Avidower.  During  these 
weeks  Lucy  had  not  once  been  home,  nor  had  she  seen  any 
of  the  Framley  people.  "  Why  should  she  incur  the  risk 
of  conveying  infection  for  so  small  an  object  ?"  as  she  her- 
self argued,  writing  by  letters,  which  were  duly  fumigated 
before  they  were  opened  at  the  Parsonage.  So  she  re- 
mained at  Hogglestock,  and  the  Crawley  children,  now  ad- 
mitted to  all  the  honors  of  the  nursery,  were  kept  at  Fram- 
ley. They  were  kept  at  Framley,  although  it  was  expect- 
ed from  day  to  day  that  the  beds  on  which  they  lay  would 
be  seized  for  the  payment  of  Mr.  Sowerby's  debts. 

Lucy,  as  I  have  said,  became  mistress  of  the  house  at 
Hogglestock,  and  made  herself  absolutely  ascendant  over 
Mr.  Crawley.  Jellies,  and  broth,  and  fruit,  and  even  but- 
ter, came  from  Lufton  Court,  which  she  dis])]ayed  on  the 
table,  absolutely  on  the  cloth  before  him,  and  yet  he  bore 
it.  I  can  not  say  that  he  partook  of  these  delicacies  with 
any  freedom  himself,  but  he  did  drink  his  tea  when  it  was 
given  to  him,  although  it  contained  Framley  cream — and, 
liad  he  known  it,  Bohea  itself  from  the  Framky  chest.  In 
truth,  in  these  days,  he  had  given  himself  over  to  the  do- 
minion of  this  stranger;  and  he  said  nothing  beyond 
"  Well,  well,"  with  two  uplifted  hands,  when  he  came  upon 
her  as  she  was  sewing  the  buttons  on  to  his  own  shirts — 
sewing  on  the  buttons,  and  perhaps  occasionally  applying 
her  needle  elsewhere,  not  without  utility. 

He  said  to  her  at  this  period  very  little  in  the  way  of 
thanks.  Some  protracted  conversations  they  did  have  now 
and  again  during  the  long  evenings,  but  even  in  these  he- 
did  not  utter  many  words  as  to  their  present  state  of  life. 
It  was  on  religion  chiefly  that  he  spoke;  not  leolurinG:  her 


468  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

individually,  but  laying  down  his  ideas  as  to  what  the  life 
of  a  Christian  should  be,  and  especially  what  should  be  the 
life  of  a  minister.  "  But,  though  I  can  see  this.  Miss  Ro- 
barts,"  he  said,  "  I  am  bound  to  say  that  no  one  has  fallen 
off  so  frequently  as  myself  I  have  renounced  the  devil 
and  all  his  works  ;  but  it  is  by  word  of  mouth  only — by 
word  of  mouth  only.  How  shall  a  man  crucify  the  old 
Adam  that  is  within  him  unless  he  throw  himself  prostrate 
in  the  dust  and  acknowledge  that  all  his  strength  is  weaker 
than  water  ?"  To  this,  often  as  it  might  be  repeated,  she 
would  listen  patiently,  comforting  him  by  such  words  as 
her  theology  would  supply ;  but  then,  when  this  was  over, 
she  would  again  resume  her  command,  and  enforce  from 
him  a  close  obedience  to  her  domestic  behests. 

At  the  end  of  the  month  Lord  Lufton  came  back  to 
Framley  Court.  His  arrival  there  was  quite. unexpected; 
though,  as  he  pointed  out,  when  his  mother  expressed  some 
surprise,  he  had  returned  exactly  at  the  time  named  by  him 
before  he  started. 

"  I  need  not  say,  Ludovic,  how  glad  I  am  to  have  you," 
said  she,  looking  into  his  face  and  pressing  his  arm ;  "  the 
more  so,  indeed,  seeing  that  I  hardly  expected  it." 

He  said  nothing  to  his  mother  about  Lucy  the  first  even- 
ing, although  there  was  some  conversation  respecting  the 
Robarts  family. 

"  I  am  afraid  Mr.  Robarts  has  embarrassed  himself,"  said 
Lady  Lufton,  looking  very  seriously.  "  Rumors  reach  me 
which  are  most  distressing.  I  have  said  nothing  to  any 
body  as  yet — not  even  to  Fanny ;  but  I  can  see  in  her  face, 
and  hear  in  the  tones  of  her  voice,  that  she  is  suffering  some 
great  sorrow." 

"  I  know  all  about  it,"  said  Lord  Lufton. 

"  You  know  all  about  it,  Ludovic  ?" 

"  Yes ;  it  is  through  that  precious  friend  of  mine,  Mr. 
Sowerby,  of  Chaldicotes.  He  has  accepted  bills  for  Sower- 
by ;  indeed,  he  told  me  so." 

"  What  business  had  he  at  Chaldicotes  ?  What  had  he 
to  do  with  such  friends  as  that  ?  I  do  not  know  how  I  am 
to  forgive  him." 

"  It  was  through  me  that  he  became  acquainted  with 
Sowerby.     You  must  remember  that,  motlier." 

"  I  do  not  see  that  that  is  any  excuse.  Is  he  to  consider 
that  all  yoiu'  acquaintances  must  necessarily  be  his  friends 


PRAilLEY    PARSONAGE.  469 

also  ?  It  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  you  in  your  posi- 
tion must  live  occasionally  with  a  great  many  people  who 
are  altogether  unfit  companions  for  him  as  a  parish  clergy- 
man, lie  will  not  remember  this,  and  he  must  be  taught 
it.     What  business  had  he  to  go  to  Gatherum  Castle  ?" 

"  He  got  his  stall  at  Barchester  by  going  there." 

"  He  would  be  much  better  without  his  stall,  and  Fanny 
has  the  sense  to  know  this.  What  does  he  want  Avith  two 
houses  ?  Prebendal  stalls  are  for  older  men  than  he — for 
men  wiio  have  earned  them,  and  who,  at  the  end  of  their 
lives,  want  some  ease.  I  wish,  with  all  my  heart,  that  he 
had  never  taken  it." 

"  Six  hundred  a  year  has  its  charms  all  the  same,"  said 
Lufton,  getting  up  and  strolling  out  of  the  room. 

"  If  Mark  really  be  in  any  difficulty,"  he  said,  later  in 
the  evening,  "  we  must  put  him  on  his  legs." 

"  You  mean,  pay  his  debts." 

"  Yes ;  he  has  no  debts  except  these  acceptances  of 
Sowerby's." 

"  How  much  will  it  be,  Ludovic  ?" 

"  A  thousand  pounds,  perhaps,  more  or  less.  I'll  find  the 
money,  mother,  only  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  pay  you  quite  as 
soon  as  I  intended."  Whereupon  his  mother  got  up,  and, 
throwing  her  arms  round  his  neck,  declared  that  she  would 
never  forgive  him  if  he  ever  said  a  word  more  about  her 
little  present  to  him.  I  suppose  there  is  no  pleasure  a 
mother  can  have  more  attractive  than  giving  away  her 
money  to  an  only  son. 

Lucy's  name  Avas  first  mentioned  at  breakfast  the  next 
morning.  Lord  Lufton  had  made  up  his  mind  to  attack 
his  mother  on  the  subject  early  in  the  morning — before  ho 
went  up  to  the  Parsonage ;  but,  as  matters  turned  out, 
31iss  Kobarts'  doings  were  necessarily  brought  under  dis- 
cussion without  reference  to  Lord  Lufton's  si)ecial  aspira- 
tions regarding  her.  The  fact  of  Mrs.  Crawley's  illness  had 
been  mentioned,  and  Lady  Lufton  had  stated  how  it  had 
come  to  pass  that  all  the  Crawleys'  children  were  at  the 
Parsonage. 

"  I  must  say  that  Fanny  has  behaved  excellently,"  said 
Lady  Lufton.  "  It  was  just  what  might  have  been  expect- 
ed from  her.  And,  indeed,"  she  added,  speaking  in  an  em- 
barrassed tone,  "  so  has  ]\Iiss  Robarts.  Miss  liobarts  has 
remained  at  Ilogglestock  and  nm-sed  Mrs.  Crawley  through 
the  whf)l('/'' 


470  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

"Remained  at  Hogglestock  —  through  the  fever!"  ex- 
claimed his  lordship. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Lady  Lufton. 

"And  is  she  there  now  ?" 

"  Oh  yes ;  I  am  not  aware  that  she  thinks  of  leaving  just 

yet." 

"Then  I  say  that  it  is  a  great  shame  —  a  scandalous 
shame !" 

"  But,  Ludovic,  it  was  her  own  doing." 

"Oh  yes,  I  understand.  But  why  should  she  be. sacri- 
ficed ?  Were  there  no  nurses  in  the  country  to  be  hired, 
but  that  she  must  go  and  remain  there  for  a  month  at  the 
bedside  of  a  pestilent  fever  ?     There  is  no  justice  in  it." 

"Justice,  Ludovic?  I  don't  know-  about  justice,  but 
there  was  great  Christian  charity.  Mrs.  Crawley  has  j^rob- 
ably  owed  her  life  to  Miss  Robarts." 

"Has  she  been  ill?  Is  she  ill?  I  insist  upon  knowing 
whether  she  is  ill.  I  shall  go  over  to  Hogglestock  myself 
immediately  after  breakfast." 

To  this  Lady  Lufton  made  no  reply.  If  Lord  Lufton 
chose  to  go  to  Hogglestock,  she  could  not  prevent  him. 
She  thought,  however,  that  it  would  be  much  better  that 
he  should  stay  away.  He  would  be  quite  as  open  to  the 
infection  as  Lucy  Robarts ;  and,  moreover,  Mrs.  Crawley's 
bedside  would  be  as  inconvenient  a  place  as  might  be  se- 
lected for  any  interview  between  two  lovers.  Lady  Luf- 
ton felt  at  the  present  moment  that  she  was  cruelly  treated 
by  circumstances  with  reference  to  Miss  Robarts.  Of 
course,  it  would  have  been  her  part  to  lessen,  if  she  could 
do  so  without  injustice,  that  high  idea  which  her  son  en- 
tertained of  the  beauty  and  worth  of  the  young  lady ;  but, 
unfortunately,  she  had  been  compelled  to  praise  her  and  to 
load  her  name  with  all  manner  of  eulogy.  Lady  Lufton 
was  essentially  a  true  woman,  and  not  even  with  the  ob- 
ject of  carrying  out  her  own  views  in  so  important  a  mat- 
ter would  she  be  guilty  of  such  deception  as  she  might 
have  practiced  by  simply  holding  her  tongue ;  but,  never- 
theless, she  could  hardly  reconcile  herself  to  the  necessity 
of  singing  Lucy's  praises. 

After  breakfast  Lady  Lufton  got  up  from  her  chair,  but 
hung  about  the  room  without  making  any  show  of  leaving. 
In  accordance  with  her  usual  custom,  she  would  have  asked 
her  son  what  he  was  going  to  do ;  but  she  did  not  dare  so 


PRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  471 

to  inquire  now.  Had  he  not  declared,  only  a  few  minutes 
since,  whither  he  would  go ?  "I  suppose  I  shall  see  you 
at  lunch  ?"  at  last  she  said. 

"  At  lunch  ?  Well,  I  don't  know.  Look  here,  mother. 
What  am  I  to  say  to  Miss  Robarts  when  I  see  her  ?"  and 
he  leaned  with  his  back  against  the  chimney-piece  as  he  in- 
terrogated his  mother. 

"  What  are  you  to  say  to  her,  Ludovic  ?" 

"  Yes ;  what  am  I  to  say — as  coming  from  you  ?  Am  I 
to  tell  her  that  you  will  receive  her  as  your  daughter-in- 
law?" 

"  Ludovic,  I  have  explained  all  that  to  Miss  Robarts  her- 
self." 

"Explained  what?" 

"  I  have  told  her  that  I  did  not  think  that  such  a  mar- 
riage would  make  either  you  or  her  happy." 

"  And  why  have  you  told  her  so  ?  Why  have  you  taken 
upon  yourself  to  judge  for  me  in  such  a  matter,  as  though 
I  were  a  child  ?  Mother,  you  must  unsay  what  you  have 
said." 

Lord  Lufton,  as  he  spoke,  looked  full  into  his  mother's 
face ;  and  he  did  so,  not  as  though  he  were  begging  from 
her  a  fiivor,  but  issuing  to  her  a  command.  She  stood  near 
him,  with  one  hand  on  the  breakfast-table,  gazing  at  him 
almost  furtively,  not  quite  daring  to  meet  the  full  view  of 
his  eye.  There  was  only  one  thin^  on  earth  which  Lady 
Lufton  feared,  and  that  was  her  son's  displeasure.  The 
sun  of  her  earthly  heaven  shone  upon  her  through  the  me- 
dium of  his  existence.  If  she  were  driven  to  quarrel  with 
liim,  as  some  ladies  of  her  acquaintance  were  driven  to 
quarrel  with  their  sons,  the  world  to  her  would  be  over. 
Not  but  what  facts  might  be  so  strong  as  to  make  it  abso- 
lutely necessary  that  she  should  do  this.  As  some  people 
resolve  that,  imder  certain  circumstances,  they  will  commit 
suicide,  so  she  could  see  that,  under  certain  circumstances, 
she  must  consent  even  to  be  separated  from  him.  She 
Avould  not  do  wrong — not  that  which  she  knew  to  be 
wrong — even  for  his  sake.  If  it  were  necessary  that  all 
her  happiness  should  collapse  and  be  crushed  in  ruin  around 
hei-,  she  must  endure  it,  and  wait  God's  time  to  relieve  her 
from  so  dark  a  world.  The  light  of  the  sun  was  very  dear 
to  her,  but  even  that  might  be  purchased  at  too  dear  a 
cost. 


472  FEAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

"  I  told  you  before,  mother,  that  my  choice  was  made, 
and  I  asked  you  then  to  give  your  consent ;  you  have  now 
had  time  to  think  about  it,  and  therefore  I  have  come  to 
ask  you  again.  I  have  reason  to  know  that  there  will  bo 
no  impediment  to  my  marriage  if  you  will  frankly  hold  out 
your  hand  to  Lucy." 

The  matter  was  altogether  in  Lady  Lufton's  hands ;  but, 
fond  as  she  was  of  power,  she  absolutely  Avished  that  it 
w^ere  not  so.  Had  her  son  married  without  asking  her, 
and  then  brought  Lucy  home  as  his  wife,  she  would  un- 
doubtedly have  forgiven  him;  and,  much  as  she  might 
have  disliked  the  match,  she  would  ultimately  have  em- 
braced the  bride.  But  now  she  Avas  compelled  to  exercise 
her  judgment.  If  he  married  imprudently,  it  would  be  her 
doing.  How  was  she  to  give  her  expressed  consent  to  that 
which  she  believed  to  be  wrong  ? 

"  Do  you  know  any  thing  against  her — any  reason  why 
she  should  not  be  my  wife  ?"  continued  he. 

"If  you  mean  as  regards  her  moral  conduct,  certainly 
not,"  said  Lady  Lufton.  "But  I  could  say  as  much  as  that 
in  favor  of  a  great  many  young  ladies  whom  I  should  re- 
gard as  very  ill  suited  for  such  a  marriage." 

"Yes;  some  might  be  vulgar,  some  might  be  ill-tem- 
pered, some  might  be  ugly,  others  might  be  burdened  with 
disagreeable  connections.  I  can  understand  that  you  should 
object  to  a  daughter-in-law  under  any  of  these  circumstan- 
ces. But  none  of  these'  things  can  be  said  of  Miss  Robarts. 
I  defy  you  to  say  that  she  is  not  in  all  respects-  what  a  lady 
should  be." 

But  her  father  was  a  doctor  of  medicine ;  she  is  the  sis- 
ter of  the  parish  clergyman ;  she  is  only  five  feet  two  in 
height,  and  is  so  uncommonly  brown !  Had  Lady  Lufton 
dared  to  give  a  catalogue  of  her  objections,  such  would 
have  been  its  extent  and  nature.  But  she  did  not  dare  to 
do  this. 

"  I  can  not  say,  Ludovic,  that  she  is  possessed  of  all  that 
you  should  seek  in  a  wife."     Such  was  her  ansAver. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  she  has  not  got  money  ?" 

"  No,  not  that ;  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  see  you  mak- 
ing money  your  chief  object,  or,  indeed,  any  essential  ob- 
ject. If  it  chanced  that  your  Avife  did  have  money,  no 
<loubt  you  Avould  find  it  a  convenience.  But  ])ray  under- 
stand me,  Ludovic;  I  would  not  for  a  moment  advise  you 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  4*73 

to  subject  your  happiness  to  such  a  necessity  as  that.  It 
is  not  because  she  is  without  fortune — " 

"Then  wliy  is  it?  At  breakfast  you  wore  singing  her 
praises,  and  saying  how  excellent  she  is." 

"  If  I  were  forced  to  put  my  objection  into  one  word,  I 
should  say — "  and  then  she  paused,  hardly  daring  to  en- 
counter the  frown  which  was  already  gathering  itself  on 
her  son's  brow. 

"You  would  say  what?"  said  Lord  Lufton,  almost 
roughly. 

"  Don't  be  angry  with  mc,  Ludovic ;  all  that  I  think, 
and  all  that  I  say  on  this  subject,  I  think  and  say  with  only 
one  object — that  of  your  happiness.  What  other  niotive 
can  I  have  for  any  thing  in  this  world?"  And  then  she 
came  close  to  him  and  kissed  him. 

"But  tell  me,  mother,  what  is  this  objection;  what  is 
this  terrible  word  that  is  to  sum  up  the  list  of  all  poor 
Lucy's  sins,  and  prove  that  she  is  unfit  for  married  life  ?" 

"  Ludovic,  I  did  not  say  that.    You  know  that  I  did  not." 

"  What  is  the  word,  mother  ?" 

And  then  at  last  Lady  Lufton  spoke  it  out.  "  She  is — " 
insignificant.  I  believe  her  to  be  a  very  good  girl,  but  she 
is  not  qualified  to  fill  the  high  position  to  which  you  Avould 
exalt  her."  ^ 

"  Insignificant !" 

"  Yes,  Ludovic,  I  think  so." 

"Then,  mother,  you  do  not  know  her.  You  must  per- 
mit me  to  say  that  you  are  talking  of  a  girl  whom  you  do 
not  know.  Of  all  the  epithets  of  opprobrium  which  the 
English  language  could  give  you,  that  would  be  nearly  the 
last  which  she  would  deserve." 

"  I  have  not  intended  any  opprobrium." 

"  Insignificant !" 

"  Perhaps  you  do  not  quite  understand  me,  Ludovic." 

"  I  know  what  insignificant  means,  mother." 

"  I  think  that  she  would  not  worthily  fill  the  position 
which  your  Avife  should  take  in  the  Avorld." 

"  I  understand  what  you  say." 

"  She  would  not  do  you  honor  at  the  he^d  of  your  table." 

"  Ah !  I  understand.  You  want  me  to  marry  some 
bouncing  Amazon,  some  pink  and  white  giantess  of  fash- 
ion, Avho  would  frighten  the  little  people  into  their  pro- 
prieties." 


474  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

"  Oh,  Ludovic !  you  are  intending  to  laugh  at  me  now." 
"  I  was  never  less  inclined  to  laugh  in  my  life — never,  I 
can  assure  you.  And  now  I  am  more  certain  than  ever 
that  your  objection  to  Miss  Robarts  arises  from  your  not 
knowing  her.  You  will  find,  I  think,  when  you  do  know 
her,  that  she  is  as  well  able  to  hold  her  own  as  any  lady 
of  your  acquaintance — ay,  and  to  maintain  her  husband's 
position  too.  I  can  assure  you  that  I  shall  have  no  fear  of 
her  on  that  score." 

"  I  think,  dearest,  that  perhaps  you  hardly — " 
"I  think  this,  mother,  that  in  such  a  matter  as  this  I 
must  choose  for  myself.  I  have  chosen ;  and  I  now  ask 
you,  fis  my  mother,  to  go  to  her  and  bid  her  welcome. 
Dear  mother,  I  will  own  this,  that  I  should  not  be  happy 
if  I  thought  that  you  did  not  love  my  wife."  These  last 
words  he  said  in  a  tone  of  affection  that  went  to  his  moth- 
er's heart,  and  then  he  left  the  room. 

Poor  Lady  Lufton,  when  she  was  alone,  waited  till  she 
heard  her  son's  steps  retreating  through  the  hall,  and  then 
betook  herself  up  stairs  to  her  customary  morning  Avork. 
She  sat  down  at  last  as  though  about  so  to  occupy  herself; 
but  her  mind  was  too  full  to  allow  of  her  taking  up  her 
pen.  She  had  often  said  to  herself,  in  days  which  to  her 
were  not  as  yet  long  gone  by,*that  she  would  choose  a 
bride  for  her  son,  and  that  then  she  would  love  the  chosen 
one  with  all  her  heart.  She  would  dethrone  herself  in  favor 
of  this  new  queen,  sinking  with  joy  into  her  dowager  state, 
in  order  that  her  son's  wife  might  shine  with  the  greater 
splendor.  The  fondest  day-dreams  of  her  life  had  all  had 
reference  to  the  time  when  her  son  should  bring  home  a 
new  Lady  Lufton,  selected  by  herself  from  the  female  ex- 
cellence of  England,  and  in  which  she  might  be  the  first  to 
worship  her  new  idol.  But  could  she  dethrone  herself  for 
Lucy  Robarts  ?  Could  she  give  up  her  chair  of  state  in 
order  to  place  thereon  the  little  girl  from  the  Parsonage  ? 
Could  she  take  to  her  heart,  and  treat  with  absolute  loving 
confidence — with  the  confidence  of  an  almost  idolatrous 
mother,  that  litti^  chit  who,  a  few  months  since,  had  sat 
awkwardly  in  one  corner  of  her  drawing-room,  afraid  to 
speak  to  any  one  ?  And  yet  it  seemed  that  it  must  come 
to  this — to  this,  or  else  those  day-dreams  of  hers  would  in 
no  wise  come  to  pass. 

She  sat  herself  down,  trying  to  think  whether  it  were 


FKAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  475 

possible  that  Lucy  might  fill  the  throne ;  for  she  had  be- 
gun to  recognize  it  as  probable  that  her  son's  will  would 
be  too  strong  for  her ;  but  her  thoughts  would  fly  away  to 
Griselda  Grantly.  In  her  first  and  only  matured  attempt 
to  realize  her  day-dreams,  she  had  chosen  Griselda  for  her 
queen.  She  had  failed  there,  seeing  that  the  fates  had  des- 
tined Miss  Grantly  for  another  throne — for  another  and  a 
higher  one,  as  far  as  the  world  goes.  She  would  have  made 
Crriselda  the  wife  of  a  baron,  but  fate  was  about  to  make 
that  young  lady  the  wife  of  a  marquis.  Was  there  cause 
of  grief  in  this  ?  Bid  she  really  regret  that  Miss  Grantly, 
with  all  her  virtues,  should  be  made  over  to  the  house  of 
Hartletop  ?  Lady  Lufton  was  a  woman  who  did  not  bear 
disappointment  lightly ;  but,  nevertheless,  she  did  almost 
feel  herself  to  have  been  relieved  from  a  burden  when  she 
thought  of  the  termination  of  the  Lufton-Grantly  marriage 
treaty.  What  if  she  had  been  successful,  and,  after  all,  the 
prize  had  been  other  than  she  had  expected?  She  was 
sometimes  prone  to  think  that  that  prize  was  not  exactly 
air  that  she  had  once  hoped.  Griselda  looked  the  very 
thing  that  Lady  Lufton  wanted  for  a  queen ;  but  how 
would  a  queen  reign  who  trusted  only  to  her  looks  ?  In 
that  respect  it  was  perhaps  well  for  her  that  destiny  had 
interposed.  Griselda,  she  was  driven  to  admit,  was  better 
suited  to  Lord  Dumbello  than  to  her  son. 

But  still — such  a  queen  as  Lucy !  Could  it  ever  come 
to  pass  that  the  lieges  of  the  kingdom  would  bow  the  knee 
in  proper  respect  before  so  puny  a  sovereign  ?  And  then 
there  was  that  feeling  which,  in  still  higher  quarters,  pre- 
vents the  marriage  of  princes  with  the  most  noble  of  their 
people.  Is  it  not  a  recognized  rule  of  these  realms  that 
none  of  the  blood  royal  shall  raise  to  royal  honors  those 
of  tlie  subjects  who  are  by  birth  unroyal  ?  Lucy  was  a 
subject  of  the  house  of  Lufton  in  that  she  Avas  the  sister  of 
the  parson  and  a  resident  denizen  of  the  Parsonage.  Pre- 
suming that  Lucy  herself  might  do  for  queen — granting 
that  she  might  have  some  faculty  to  reign,  the  crown  hav- 
ing been  duly  placed  on  her  brow — how,  then,  about  that 
clerical  brother  near  the  throne  ?  Would  it  not  come  to 
this,  that  there  would  no  longer  be  a  queen  at  Framley  ? 

And  yet  she  knew  that  she  must  yield.  She  did  not  say 
so  to  herself  She  did  not  as  yet  acknowledge  that  she 
must  put  out  her  hand  to  Lucy,  calling  her  by  name  as  her 


41 G  FEAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

daughter.  She  did  not  absolutely  say  as  much  to  her  own 
heart — not  as  yet.  But  she  did  begin  to  bethink  herself 
of  Lucy's  high  qualities,  and  to  declare  to  herself  that  the 
girl,  if  not  fit  to  be  a  queen,  was,  at  any  rate,  tit  to  be  a 
woman.  That  there  was  a  spirit  within  that  body,  insig- 
nificant though  the  body  might  be.  Lady  Lufton  was  pre- 
pared to  admit.  That  she  had  acquired  the  power — the 
chief  of  all  powers  in  this  world — of  sacrificing  herself  for 
the  sake  of  others ;  that,  too,  was  evident  enough.  Thjjt 
she  was  a  good  girl,  in  the  usual  acceptation  of  the  word 
good.  Lady  Lufton  had  never  doubted.  She  was  ready- 
witted  too,  prompt  in  action,  gifted  with  a  certain  fire.  It 
was  that  gift  of  fire  which  had  won  for  her,  so  unfortunate- 
ly. Lord  Lufton's  love.  It  was  quite  possible  for  her  also 
to  love  Lucy  Robarts ;  Lady  Lufton  admitted  that  to  her- 
self; but,  then,  who  could  bow  the  knee  before  her,  and 
serve  her  as  a  queen  ?  Was  it  not  a  pity  that  she  should 
be  so  insignificant? 

But,  nevertheless,  we  may  say  that  as  Lady  Lufton  sat 
that  morning  in  her  own  room  for  two  hours  without  em- 
ployment, the  star  of  Lucy  Robarts  was  gradually  rising  in 
the  firmament.  After  all,  love  was  the  food  chiefly  neces- 
sary for  the  nourishment  of  Lady  Lufton — the  only  food 
absolutely  necessary.  She  was  not  aware  of  this  herself, 
nor  probably  w^ould  those  Avho  knew  her  best  have  so 
spoken  of  her.  They  w^ould  have  declared  that  family 
pride  was  Jier  daily  pabulum,  and  she  herself  would  have 
said  so  too,  calling  it,  however,  by  some  less  oftensive  name. 
Her  son's  honor,  and  the  honor  of  her  house — of  those  she 
would  have  spoken  as  the  things  dearest  to  her  in  this 
world.  And  this  was  partly  true ;  for,  had  her  son  been 
dishonored,  she  would  have  sunk  with  sorrow  to  the  grave. 
But  the  one  thing  necessary  to  her  daily  life  was  the  power 
of  loving  those  who  were  near  to  her. 

Lord  Lufton,  when  he  left  the  dhiing-room,  intended  at 
once  to  go  up  to  the  Parsonage,  but  he  first  strolled  round 
the  garden  in  order  that  "he  might  make  up  his  mind  what 
he  would  say  there.  He  was  angry  with  his  mother,  hav- 
ing not  had  the  wit  to  see  that  she  was  about  to  give  way 
and  yield  to  him,  and  he  w^as  determined  to  make  it  under- 
stood that  in  this  matter  he  would  have  his  own  way.  He 
liad  learned  that  which  it  was  necessary  that  he  should 
know  as  to  Lucy's  lieart,  and,  such  being  the  case,  he  would 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  '  477 

not  conceive  it  possible  that  he  should  be  debarred  by  his 
mother's  opposition.  "  There  is  no  son  in  England  loves 
his  mother  better  than  I  do,"  he  said  to  himself;  "  but 
there  are  some  things  which  a  man  can  not  stand.  She 
would  have  married  me  to  that  block  of  stone  if  I  would 
have  let  her ;  and  now,  because  she  is  disappointed  there — 
Insignificant !  I  never  in  my  life  heard  any  thing  so  ab- 
surd, so  untrue,  so  uncharitable,  so —  She'd  like  me  to 
bring  a  dragon  home,  I  suppose.  It  would  serve  her  right 
if  I  did — some  creature  that  Avould  make  the  house  intol- 
erable to  her.  She  must  do  it,  though,"  he  said  again,  "or 
she  and  I  will  quarrel ;"  and  then  he  turned  off  toward  the 
gate,  preparing  to  go  to  the  Parsonage. 

"  My  lord,  have  you  heard  what  has  happened  ?"  said  the 
gardener,  coming  to  him  at  the  gate.  The  man  was  out 
of  breath  and  almost  overwhelmed  by  the  greatness  of  his 
own  tidings. 

"  No,  I  have  heard  nothing.     What  is  it?" 
"  The  bailiffs  have  taken  possession  of  every  thing  at 
the  Parsonage." 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

THE   PHILISTINES   AT  THE  PARSONAGE. 

It  has  been  already  told  how  thinixs  went  on  between 
the  Tozers,  Mr.  Curling,  and  Mark  Robarts  during  that 
month.  Mr.  Forrest  had  drifted  out  of  the  business  alto- 
gether, as  ftlso  had  Mr.  Sowerby,  as  far  as  any  active  par- 
ticij)ation  in  it  Avent.  Letters  came  frequently  from  Mr» 
Curling  to  the  Parsonage,  and  at  last  came  a  message  by 
special  mission  to  say  that  the  evil  day  was  at  hand.  Asi 
far  as  Mr.  Curling's  professional  experience  would  enablo 
Jiim  to  anticipate  or  foretell  the  proceedings  of  such  a  man 
as  Tom  Tozer,  he  thought  that  the  sheriff's  officers  would 
be  at  Framley  Parsonnge  on  the  following  morning.  Mr. 
Curling's  experience  did  not  mislead  him  in  this  respect. 

"And  what  will  you  do,  Mark?"  said  Fanny,  speaking 
through  her  tears,  after  she  had  read  the  letter  which  her 
husband  handed  to  her. 

"  Nothing.     What  can»I  do  ?     They  must  come." 
"Lord  Lufton  came  to-day.     Will  you  not  go  to  him?" 
"  No.     If  I  were  to  do  so,  it  would  be  the  same  as  ask- 
ing him  for  the  money." 


478  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

"  Why  not  borrow  it  of  him,  dearest  ?  Surely  it  would 
not  be  so  much  for  him  to  lend." 

"  I  could  not  do  it.  Think  of  Lucy,  and  how  she  stands 
with  him.  Besides,  I  have  already  had  words  with  Lufton 
about  Sowerby  and  his  money-matters.  He  thinks  that  I 
am  to  blame,  and  he  would  tell  me  so;  and  then  there 
would  be  sharp  things  said  between  us.  He  would  ad- 
vance me  the  money  if  I  pressed  for  it,  but  he  would  do  so 
in  a  way  that  would  make  it  impossible  that  I  should  take 
it." 

There  was  nothing  more,  then,  to  be  said.  If  she  had 
had  her  own  Avay,  Mrs.  Robarts  would  have  gone  at  once 
to  Lady  Lufton,  but  she  could  not  induce  her  husband  to 
sanction  such  a  proceeding.  The  objection  to  seeking  as- 
sistance from  her  ladyship  was  as  strong  as  that  which  pre- 
vailed as  to  her  son.  There  had  already  been  some  little 
beginning  of  ill  feeling,  and,  under  such  circumstances,  it 
was  impossible  to  ask  for  pecuniary  assistance.  Fanny, 
however,  had  a  prophetic  assurance  that  assistance  out  of 
these  difficulties  must  in  the  end  come  to  them  from  that 
quat-ter,  or  not  come  at  all ;  and  she  would  fain,  had  she 
been  allowed,  make  every  thing  known  at  the  big  house. 

On  the  following  morning  they  breakfasted  at  the  usual 
hour,  but  in  great  sadness.  A  maid-servant,  whom  Mrs. 
Robarts  had  brought  with  her  when  she  married,  told  her 
that  a  rumor  of  what  was  to  happen  had  reached  the  kitch- 
en. Stubbs,  the  groom,  had  been  in  Barchester  on  the 
preceding  day,  and,  according  to  his  account — so  said  Mary 
— every  body  in  the  city  was  talking  about  iU  "  Never 
mind,  Mary,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts,  and  Mary  replied, "  Oh  no, 
of  course  not,  ma'am." 

In  these  days  Mrs.  Robarts  was  ordinarily  very  busy,  see- 
ing that  there  were  six  children  in  the  house,  four  of  whom 
had  come  to  her  but  ill  supplied  with  infantine  belongings ; 
and  now,  as  usual,  she  went  about  her  work  immediately 
after  breakfast.  But  she  moved  about  the  house  very 
slowly,  and  was  almost  unable  to  give  her  orders  to  the 
servants,  and  spoke  sadly  to  the  children,  who  hung  about 
her  wondering  what  was  the  matter.  Her  husband  at  the 
same  time  took  himself  to  his  bookroom,  but  when  there 
did  not  attempt  any  employment.  He  thrust  his  hands 
into  his  pockets,  and,  leaning  against  the  fireplace,  fixed 
his  eyes  upon  the  table  before  him  without  looking  at  any 


"3IARK,       ^HK    SAID,    "THE    ?IK.\    AKE    HERE 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  481 

thing  that  was  on  it ;  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  betake 
himself  to  his  work.  Remember  what  is  tlie  ordinary  la- 
bor of  a  clergyman  in  his  study,  and  think  how  fit  he  must 
liave  been  for  such  employment !  What  would  have  been 
the  nature  of  a  sermon  composed  at  such  a  moment,  and 
with  what  satisfaction  could  he  have  used  the  sacred  vol- 
ume in  referring  to  it  for  his  arguments?  He,  in  this  re- 
spect, was  worse  off  than  his  wife ;  she  did  employ  her- 
self, but  he  stood  there  without  moving,  doing  nothing, 
with  fixed  eyes,  thinking  what  men  would  say  of  liim. 

Luckily  for  him,  this  state  of  suspense  "was  not  long,  for 
within  half  an  hour  of  his  leaving  the  breakfast-table  the 
footman  knocked  at  his  door — that  footman  with  whom  at 
the  beginning  of  his  difficulties  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  dispense,  but  who  had  been  kept  on  because  of  the  Bar- 
chester  prebend. 

"  If  you  please,  your  reverence,  there  are  two  men  out- 
side," said  the  footman. 

Two  men !  Mark  knew  well  enough  w^hat  men  they 
were,  but  he  could  hardly  take  the  coming  of  two  such  men 
to  his  quiet  country  parsonage  quite  as  a  matter  of  course. 

"  Who  are  they,  John  ?"  said  he,  not  w^ishing  any  an- 
swer, but  because  the  question  was  forced  upon  liim. 

"  I  am  afeard  they're — bailiffs,  sir." 

"  Very  well,  John  ;  that  will  do ;  of  course  ^ley  must  do 
what  they  please  about  the  place." 

And  then,  when  the  servant  left  him,  he  still  stood  with- 
out moving,  exactly  as  he  had  stood  befoi'c.  There  he  re- 
mained for  ten  minutes;  but  the  time  went  by. very  slow- 
ly. When,  about  noon,  some  circumstance  told  him  what 
was  the  hour,  he  was  astonished  to  find  that  the  day  had 
not  nearly  passed  away. 

And  then  another  tap  was  struck  on  the  door — a  sound 
which  he  well  recognized — and  his  wife  crept  silently  into 
the  room.  She  came  close  up  to  him  before  she  spoke,  and 
put  her  arm  within  his : 

"Mark,"  she  said,  "the  men  arc  here;  they  are  in  the 
yard." 

"I  know  it,"  he  answered  gruffiy. 

"  Will  it  be  better  that  you  should  see  them,  dearest  ?" 

"  See  them !  no ;  what  good  can  I  do  by  seeing  them  ?, 
But  I  shall  see  them  soon  enough  ;  they  will  be  here,  I  sup- 
pose, in  a  few  minutes." 


482  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

"  They  are  taking  an  inventory,  cook  says ;  they  are  in 
the  stable  now." 

"Very  well;  they  must  do  as  they  please;  I  can  not 
help  them." 

"  Cook  says  that  if  they  are  allowed  their'  meals  and 
some  beer,  and  if  nobody  takes  any  thing  away,  they  will 
be  quite  civil." 

"Civil!  But  what  does  it  matter?  Let  them  eat  and 
drink  what  they  please,  as  long  as  the  food  lasts.  I  don't 
suppose  the  butcher  will  send  you  more." 

"  But,  Mark,  there's  nothing  due  to  the  butcher — only 
the  regular  monthly  bill." 

"  Very  Avell ;  you'll  see." 

"  Oh,  Mark,  don't  look  at  me  in  that  way.  Do  not  turn 
away  from  me.  What  is  to  comfort  us  if  we  do  not  cling 
to  each  other  now  ?" 

"Comfort  us!  God  help  you!  I  wonder,  Fanny,  that 
you  can  bear  to  stay  in  the  room  with  me." 

"Mark,  dearest  Mark,  my  own  .dear,  dearest  husband! 
who  is  to  be  true  to  you  if  I  am  not?  You  shall  not  turn 
from  me.  How  can  any  thing  like  this  make  a  difference 
between  you  and  me?"  And  then  she  threw  her  arms 
round  his  neck  and  embraced  him. 

It  was  a  terrible  morning  to  him,  and  one  of  which  every 
incident  will  dwell  on  his  memory  to  the  last  day  of  his 
life.  He  had  been  so  proud  in  his  position — had  assumed 
to  himself  so  prominent  a  standing — had  contrived,  by  some 
trick  Avhich  he  had  acquired,  to  carry  his  head  so  high 
above  the  heads  of  neighboring  parsons.  It  was  this  that 
had  taken  him  among  great  people,  had  introduced  him  to 
the  Duke  of  Omnium,  had  i3focured  for  him  the  stall  at 
Barchester.  But  how  was  he  to  carry  his  head  now? 
What  would  the  Arabins  and  Grantlys  say  ?  How  would 
the  bishoj)  sneer  at  him,  and  Mrs.  Proudie  and  her  daugh- 
ters tell  of  him  in  all  their  quarters?  How  would  Craw- 
ley look  at  him — Crawley,  wiio  had  already  once  had  him 
on  the  hip  ?  The  stern  severity  of  Crawley's  iace  loomed 
npon  him  now.  Crawley,  Avith  liis  children  half  naked, 
and  his  Avife  a  drudge,  and  himself  hnlf  starved,  had  never 
had  a  bailiff  in  his  house  at  Hogglestock!  And  then  his 
own  curate,  Evans,  whom  he  had  patronized,  and  treated 
almost  as  a  dependent — how  was  he  to  look  his  curate  in 
the  face,  and  arrange  with  him  for  the  sacred  duties  of  the 
next  Sunday  ? 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  483 

His  wife  still  stood  by  him,  gazing  into  Iiis  face ;  and  as 
he  looked  at  her  and  thought  of  her  misery,  lie  cuuld  not 
control  his  heart  with  reference  to  the  wrongs  which  Sow- 
crby  had  heaped  on  him.  It  was  Sowerby's  falsehood  and 
Sowerby's  fraud  which  had  brought  upon  him  and  his  Avifc 
this  terrible  anguish.  "  If  there  be  justice  on  earth,  he  will 
suffer  for  it  yet,"  he  said  at  last,  not  speaking  intentionally 
to  his  wife,  but  unable  to  repress  his  feelings. 

"  Do  not  wish  him  evil,  Mark ;  you  may  be  sure  he  has 
his  own  sorrows." 

"  His  own  sorrows !  No,  he  is  callous  to  such  misery  as 
this.  He  has  become  so  hardened  in  dishonesty  that  all 
this  is  mirth  to  him.  If  there  be  punishment  in  heaven  for 
falsehood — " 

"Oh,  Mark,  do  not  curse  him !" 

"How  am  I  to  keep  myself  from  cursing  when  I  see 
what  he  has  brought  upon  you  ?" 

"* Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the  Lord,'"  answered  the 
young  wife,  not  with  solemn,  preaching  accent,  as  though 
bent  on  reproof,  but  with  the  softest  whisper  into  his  ear. 
"  Leave  that  to  Him,  Mark ;  and  for  us,  let  us  pray  that  He 
may  soften  the  hearts  of  us  all — of  hira  who  has  caused  us 
to  sufter,  and  of  our  own." 

Mark  was  not  called  upon  to  reply  to  this,  for  he  was 
again  disturbed  by  a  servant  at  the  door.  It  was  the  cook 
this  time  herself,  who  had  come  with  a  message  from  the 
men  of  the  law.  And  she  had  come,  be  it  remembered,  not 
from  any  necessity  that  she  as  cook  should  do  this  line  of 
work ;  for  the  footman,  or  Mrs.  Robarts'  maid,  might  have 
come  as  w^ell  as  she ;  but  when  tilings  arc  out  of  course, 
servants  are  always  out  of  course  also.  As  a  rule,  nothing 
wull  induce  a  butler  to  go  into  a  stable,  or  persuade  a  house- 
maid to  put  her  hand  to  a  frying-pan.  But,  now  that  this 
new  excitement  had  come  upon  tlie  household — seeing  that 
the  bailiffs  were  in  possession,  and  that  the  chattels  were 
being  entered  in  a  catalogue,  every  body  was  willing  to  do 
every  thing — every  thing  but  his  or  her  own  w^ork.  The 
gardener  w^as  looking  after  the  dear  children ;  the  nurse 
was  doing  the  rooms  before  the  bailiffs  should  reach  them ; 
the  groom  had  gone  into  tlie  kitchen  to  get  their  lunch 
ready  for  them ;  and  the  cook  was  Avalking  about  with  an 
inkstand,  obeying  all  the  orders  of  these  great  potentates. 
As  far  as  the  servants  were  concerned,  it  may  be  a  que?  lion 


484  FRAMLEY    TAKSONAGE. 

whether  the  coming  of  the  bailiffs  had  not  hitherto  been 
regarded  as  a  treat. 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,"  said  Jemima  cook,  *'  they  wishes 
to  know  in  which  room  you'd  be  pleased  to  have  the  in- 
min-tory  took  fust.  'Cause,  ma'am,  they  wouldn't  disturb 
you  nor  master  more  than  can  be  avoided.  Fur  their  line 
of  life,  ma'am,  they  is  very  civil — very  civil  indeed." 

"  I  suppose  they  may  go  into  the  drawing-room,"  said 
Mrs.  Robarts,  in  a  sad,  low  voice.  All  nice  women  are 
proud  of  their  drawing-rooms,  and  she  was  very  proud  of 
hers.  It  had  been  furnished  when  money  was  plenty  with 
them,  immediately  after  their  marriage,  and  every  thing  in 
it  was  pretty,  good,  and  dear  to  her.  Oh,  ladies,  who  have 
drawing-rooms  in  which  the  things  are  joretty,  good,  and 
dear  to  you,  think  of  what  it  would  be  to  have  two  bailiffs 
rummaging  among  them  with  pen  and  inkhorn,  making  a 
catalogue  j^reparatory  to  a  sheriff's  auction,  and  all  without 
fault  or  extravagance  of  your  own !  There  were  things 
there  that  had  been  given  to  her  by  Lady  Lufton,  by  Lady 
Meredith,  and  other  friends,  and  the  idea  did  occur  to  her 
that  it  might  be  possible  to  save  them  from  contamination ; 
but  she  Avould  not  say  a  word,  lest  by  so  saying  she  might 
add  to  Mark's  misery. 

"And  then  the  dining-room,"  said  Jemima  cook,  in  a 
tone  almost  of  elation. 
.     "  Yes,  if  they  please." 

"  And  then  master's  bookroom  here ;  or  perhaps  the 
bedrooms,  if  you  and  master  be  still  here." 

"  Any  w^ay  they  please,  cook ;  it  does  not  much  signify," 
said  Mrs.  Robarts.  But  for  some  days  after  that  Jemima 
was  by  no  means  a  favorite  with  her. 

The  cook  Avas  hardly  out  of  the  room  before  a  quick 
footstep  was  heard  on  the  gravel  before  the  window,  and 
the  hall  door  was  immediately  opened. 

"  Where  is  your  master  ?"  said  the  well-known  ^'oice  of 
Lord  Lufton ;  and  then  in  half  a  minute  he  also  was  in  the 
bookroom. 

"  Mark,  my  dear  fellow,  what's  all  this  ?"  said  he,  in  a 
cheery  tone  and  with  a  pleasant  face.  "  Did  not  you  know 
that  I  was  here?  I  came  down  yesterday — landed  from 
Hamburg  only  yesterday  morning.  How  do  you  do,  Mrs. 
Robarts ?     This  is  a  terrible  bore, isn't  it?" 

Robarts,  at  the  first  moment,  hardly  knew  how  to  rpoak 


FEAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  485 

to  his  old  friend.  He  was  struck  dumb  by  the  disgrace  of 
his  position,  the  more  so  as  his  misfortune  was  one  whicli 
it  was  partly  in  the  power  of  Lord  Lufton  to  remedy.  He 
had  never  yet  borrowed  money  since  lie  had  filled  a  man's 
position,  but  he  had  had  words  about  money  with  the 
young  peer,  in  which  he  knew  that  his  friend  had  wronged 
him,  and  for  this  double  reason  he  was  now  speecliless. 

"  Mr.  Sowerby  has  betrayed  him,"  said  Mrs.  Robarts, 
wiping  the  tears  from  her  eyes.  Hitherto  she  had  said  no 
word  against  Sowerby,  but  now  it  was  necessary  to  defend 
her  husband. 

"  Xo  doubt  about  it.  I  believe  he  has  always  betrayed 
every  one  who  has  ever  trusted  in  him.  I  told  you  what 
lie  was  some  time  since,  did  I  not?  But,  Mark,  why  on 
earth  have  you  let  it  go  so  far  as  this  ?  Would  not  For- 
rest help  you  ?" 

"  Mr.  Forrest  wanted  him  to  sign  more  bills,  and  he 
would  not  do  that,"  said  Mrs.  Kobarts,  sobbing. 

"Bills  are  like  dram-drinking,"  said  the  discreet  young 
lord:  "when  one  once  begins,  it  is  very  hard  to  leave  off. 
Is  it  true  that  the  men  are  here  now,  Mark  ?" 

"  Yes,  they  are  in  the  next  room." 

"  What,  in  the  drawing-room  ?" 

"  They  are  making  out  a  list  of  the  things,"  said  Mrs. 
Robarts. 

"We  must  stop  that,  at  any  rate,"  said  his  lordship, 
walking  off  toward  the  scene  of  the  operations ;  and,  as  he 
left  the  room,  Mrs.  Robarts  followed  him,  leaving  her  hus- 
band by  himself. 

"  Why  did  you  not  send  down  to  my  mother  ?"  said  he, 
speaking  hardly  above  a  whisper,  as  they  stood  together 
in  the  hall. 

"  He  would  not  let  me." 

"  But  why  not  go  yourself?  or  why  not  have  written  to 
me,  considering  how  intimate  we  are  ?" 

Mrs.  Robarts  could  not  explain  to  him  that  the  peculiar 
intimacy  between  him  and  Lucy  must  have  hindered  her 
from  doing  so,  even  if  otherwise  it  might  have  been  possi- 
ble ;  but  she  felt  such  was  the  case. 

"  Well,  my  men,  this  is  bad  work  you're  doing  here," 
said  he,  walking  into  the  drawing-room.  Whereupon  the 
cook  courtesied  low,  and  the  bailiffs,  knowing  his  lordship, 
stopped  from  their  business  and  put  their  hands  to  their 


48G  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

foreheads.  "  You  must  stop  this,  if  you  please — at  once. 
Come,  let's  go  out  into  the  kitchen,  or  some  place  outside. 
I  don't  like  to  see  you  here,  with  your  big  boots,  and  the 
pen  and  ink,  among  the  furniture." 

"  We  ain't  a-done  no  harm,  my  lord,  so  please  your  lord- 
ship," said  Jemima  cook. 

"  And  we  is  only  a-doing  our  bounden  dooties,"  said  one 
of  the  bailiffs. 

"  As  we  is  sworn  to  do,  so  please  your  lordship,"  said 
the  other. 

"And  is  wery  sorry  to  be  unconwenient,  my  lord,  to  any 
gen'leman  or  lady  as  is  a  gen'leman  or  lady.  But  acci- 
dents will  happen,  and  then  what  can  the  likes  of  us  do?" 
said  the  first. 

"  Because  we  is  sworn,  my  lord,"  said  the  second.  But, 
nevertheless,  in  spite  of  their  oaths,  and  in  spite  also  of  the 
stern  necessity  which  they  pleaded,  they  ceased  their  oper- 
ations at  the  instance  of  the  peer ;  for  the  name  of  a  lord 
is  still  great  in  England. 

"  And  now  leave  this,  and  let  Mrs.  Robarts  go  into  her 
drawing-room." 

"And,  please  your  lordship,  what  is  we  to  do?  Who 
is  we  to  look  to  ?" 

In  satisfying  them  absolutely  on  this  point.  Lord  Lufton 
had  to  use  more  than  his  influence  as  a  peer.  It  was  neces- 
sary that  he  should  have  pen  and  paper.  But  with  pen 
and  paper  he  did  satisfy  them — satisfied  them  so  far  that 
they  agreed  to  return  to  Stubbs'  room,  the  former  hospital, 
due  stipulation  having  been  made  for  the  meals  and  beer, 
and  there  await  the  order  to  evacuate  the  premises,  which 
Would,  no  doubt,  under  his  lordship's  influence,  reach  them 
on  the  following  day.  Tlie  meaning  of  all  which  was  that 
Lord  Lufton  had  undertaken  to  bear  upon  his  own  shoul- 
der the  whole  debt  due  by  Mr.  Robarts. 

And  then  he  returned  to  the  bookroom,  where  Mark  was 
still  standing  almost  on  the  spot  in  which  he  had  placed 
himself  immediately  after  breakfast.  Mrs.  Robarts  did  not 
return,  but  went  up  among  the  children  to  counterorder 
such  directions  as  she  had  given  for  the  preparation  of  the 
nursery  for  the  Philistines.  "  Mark,"  he  said,  "  do  not 
trouble  yourself  about  this  more  than  you  can  help.  The 
^iien  have  ceased  doing  any  thing,  and  they  shall  leave  the 
place  to-morrow  morning." 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  487 

"And  liow  will  the  money — be  paid?"  said  the  poor 
clergyman. 

"  l3o  not  bother  yourself  about  that  at  present.  It  shall 
so  be  managed  that  the  burden  shall  fall  ultimately  on 
yourself— not  on  any  one  else.  But  I  am  sure  it  must  be 
a  comfort  to  you  to  know  that  your  wife  need  not  be  driv- 
en out  of  her  drawing-room." 

"  But,  Lufton,  I  can  not  allow  you,  after  what  has  passed, 
and  at  the  present  moment — " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  know  all  about  it,  and  I  am  coming 
to  that  just  now.  You  have  employed  Curling,  and  he 
shall  settle  it;  and,  upon  my  word,  Mark,  you  shall  pay 
the  bill.  But,  for  the  present  emergency,  the  money  is  at 
my  banker's." 

"  But,  Lufton— " 

"And,  to  deal  honestly,  about  Curling's  bill  I  mean,  it 
ought  to  be  as  much  my  affair  as  your  own.  It  was  I  that 
brought  you  into  this  mess  with  Sowerby,  and  I  know  now 
how  unjust  about  it  I  was  to  you  up  in  London.  But  the 
truth  is  that  Sowerby's  treachery  had  nearly  driven  me 
wild.     It  has  done  the  same  to  you  since,  I  have  no  doubt." 

"He  has  ruined  me,"  said  Robarts. 

"  No,  he  has  not  done  that.  No  thanks  to  him,  though ; 
he  would  not  have  scrupled  to  do  it  had  it  come  in  his  way. 
The  fact  is,  Mark,  that  you  and  I  can  not  conceive  the 
depth  of  fraud  in  such  a  man  as  that.  He  is  always  look- 
ing for  money ;  I  believe  that  in  all  his  hours  of  most 
friendly  intercourse — when  he  is  sitting  with  you  over 
your  wine,  and  riding  beside  you  in  the  field — he  is  still 
thinking  how  he  can  make  use  of  you  to  tide  him  over 
gome  difficulty.  He  has  lived  in  that  w^ay  till  he  has  a 
pleasure  in  cheating,  and  has  become  so  clever  in  his  line 
of  life  that  if  you  or  I  were  w^itli  him  again  to-morroAV  he 
would  again  get  the  better  of  us.  He  is  a  man  that  must 
be  absolutely  avoided ;  I,  at  any  rate,  have  learned  to  know 
so  much." 

In  the  expression  of  which  opinion  Ubrd  Lufton  was  too 
hard  upon  poor  Sowerby,  as,  indeed,  we  are  all  apt  to  be 
too  hard  in  forming  an  opinion  upon  the  rogues  of  the 
world.  That  Mr.  Sowerby  had  been  a  rogue  I  can  not 
deny.  It  is  roguish  to  lie,  and  he  had  been  a  great  liar. 
It  is  roguish  to  make  promises  which  the  promiser  knows 
he  can  not  perform,  and  such  had  been  Mr.  Sowerby's  daily 


488  FRAMLEY    PARSOXAGE. 

practice.  It  is  roguish  to  live  on  other  men's  money,  and 
Mr.  Sowerby  had  long  been  doing  so.  It  is  roguish — at 
least  so  I  would  hold  it — to  deal  willingly  with  rogues,  and 
Mr.  Sowerby  had  been  constant  in  such  dealings.  I  do  not 
know  whether  he  had  not  at  times  fallen  even  into  more 
palpable  roguery  than  is  proved  by  such  practices  as  those 
enumerated.  Though  I  have  for  him  some  tender  feeling, 
knowing  that  there  was  still  a  touch  of  gentle  bearing 
round  his  heart,  an  abiding  taste  for  better  things  within 
him,  I  can  not  acquit  him  from  the  great  accusation.  But, 
for  all  that,  in  spite  of  his  acknowledged  roguery,  Lord 
Lufton  was  too  hard  upon  him  in  his  judgment.  There 
was  yet  within  him  the  means  of  repentance,  could  a  locus 
Ijenitentim  have  been  supplied  to  him.  He  grieved  bitter- 
ly over  his  own  ill  doings,  and  knew  well  what  changes 
gentlehood  would  have  demanded  from  him.  AVhether  or 
no  he  had  gone  too  far  for  all  changes — whether  the  locus 
penitentlcB  was  for  him  still  a  possibility — that  Avas  between 
him  and  a  higher  power. 

"  I  have  no  one  to  blame  but  myself,"  said  Mark,  still 
speaking  in  the  same  heart-broken  tone,  and  with  his  face 
averted  from  his  friend. 

The  debt  would  now  be  paid,  and  the  bailiffs  would  be 
expelled;  but  that  would  not  set  him  right  before  the 
world.  It  would  be  known  to  all  men — to  all  clergymen 
in  the  diocese — that  the  sheriff's  officers  had  been  in  charge 
of  Framley  Parsonage,  and  he  could  never  again  hold  up 
his  head  in  the  Close  of  Barchester. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  if  we  were  all  to  make  ourselves  mis- 
erable for  such  a  trifle  as  this — "  said  Lord  Lufton,  putting 
his  arm  affectionately  on  his  friend's  shoulder. 

"  But  we  are  not  all  clergymen,"  said  Mark ;  and,  as  he 
spoke,  he  turned  away  to  the  window,  and  Lord  Lufton 
knew  that  the  tears  were  on  his  cheek. 

Nothing  was  then  said  between  tliem  for  some  moments, 
after  Avhich  Lord  Lufton  again  spoke : 

"Mark,  my  dear*fellow !" 

"Well?"  said  Mark,  with  his  face  still  turned  toward  the 
window. 

"  You  must  remember  one  thing :  in  helping  you  over 
this  stile,  which  Avill  be  really  a  matter  of  no  inconvenience 
to  me,  I  have  a  better  right  than  that  even  of  an  old  friend  ; 
T  look  upon  you  now  as  my  brother-in-law." 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  489 

Mark  turned  slowly  round,  plainly  showing  the  tears 
npon  his  foce. 

"  Do  you  mean,"  said  he,  "  that  any  thing  more  has  taken 
place?" 

"  I  mean  to  make  your  sister  my  wife ;  she  sent  me  word 
by  you  to  say  that  she  loved  me,  and  I  am  not  going  to 
stand  upon  any  nonsense  after  that.  If  she  and  I  are  both 
willing,  no  one  alive  has  a  right  to  stand  between  us ;  and, 
by  heavens,  no  one  shall.  I  will  do  nothing  secretly,  so  I 
tell  you  that,  exactly  as  I  have  told  her  ladyship." 

"  But  what  does  she  say  ?" 

"She  says  nothing;  but  it  can  not  go  on  like  that.  My 
mother  and  I  can  not  live  here  together  if  she  opposes  me 
in  this  way.  I  do  not  want  to  frighten  your  sister  by  go- 
ing over  to  her  at  Hogglestock,  but  I  expect  you  to  tell 
her  so  much  as  I  now  tell  you,  as  coming  from  me;  other- 
-svise  she  will  think  that  I  have  forgotten  her." 

"  She  will  not  think  that." 

"She  need  not;  good-by,  old  fellow.  Til  make  it  all 
right  between  you  and  her  ladyship  about  this  affair  of 
Sowerby's." 

And  then  he  took  his  leave  and  walked  off  to  settle 
about  the  payment  of  the  money. 

"Mother,"  said  he  to  Lady  Lufton  that  evening,  "you 
must  not  bring  this  affair  of  the  bailiffs  up  against  Robarts. 
It  has  been  more  my  fault  than  his." 

Hitherto  not  a  word  had  been  spoken  between  Lady 
Lufton  and  her  son  on  the  subject.  She  had  heard  w^ith 
terrible  dismay  of  Avhat  had  happened,  and  had  heard,  also, 
that  Lord  Lufton  had  immediately  gone  to  the  Parsonnge. 
It  was  impossible,  therefore,  that  she  should  now  interfere. 
That  the  necessary  money  would  be  forthcoming  she  was 
aware,  but  that  Avould  not  wipe  out  the  terrible  disgrace 
attached  to  an  execution  in  a  clergyman's  house.  And 
then,  too,  he  was  her  clergyman — her  own  clergyman,  se- 
lected, and  appointed,  and  brought  to  Framlcy  by  herself, 
endowed  w^ith  a  wife  of  her  own  choosing,  filled  with  good 
things  by  her  o^vn  hand !  It  was  a  terrible  misadventure, 
and  she  began  to  repent  that  she  had  ever  heard  the  name 
of  Robarts.  She  would  not,  however,  have  been  slow  to 
put  forth  the  hand  to  lessen  the  evil  by  giving  her  own 
money,  had  this  been  either  necessary  or  possible.  But 
how  could  she  interfere  between  Robarts  and  her  son,  os- 

X  2 


490  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

pccially  when  she  remembered  the  proposed  connection 
between  Lucy  and  Lord  Lufton  ? 

"  Your  fault,  Ludovic  ?" 

"Yes,  mother.  It  was  I  who  introduced  him  to  Mr. 
Sowerby ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  do  not  think  he  w^ould 
ever  have  been  intimate  -with  Sowerby  if  I  had  not  given 
him  some  sort  of  a  commission  with  reference  to  money- 
matters  then  pending  betw^een  Mr.  Sowerby  and  me.  They 
are  all  over  now — thanks  to  you,  indeed." 

"Mr.  Robarts'  character  as  a  clergyman  should  have 
kept  him  from  such  troubles,  if  no  other  feeling  did  so," 

"  At  any  rate,  mother,  oblige  me  by  letting  it  pass  by." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  say  nothing  to  him." 

"  You  had  better  say  something  to  her,  or  otherwise  it 
will  be  strange ;  and  even  to  him  I  w^ould  say  a  word  or 
two — a  word  in  kindness,  as  you  so  ^vell  know  how^  It 
will  be  easier  to  him  in  that  way  than  if  you  were  to  be 
altogether  silent." 

No  farther  conversation  took  place  betw^een  them  at  the 
time,  but  later  in  the  evening  she  brushed  her  hand  across 
her  son's  forehead,  sweeping  the  long  silken  hairs  into  their 
place,  as  she  was  wont  to  do  w^hen  moved  by  any  special 
feeling  of  love.  "  Ludovic,"  she  said,  "  no  one,  I  think,  has 
so  good  a  heart  as  you.  I  wall  do  exactly  as  you  would 
have  me  about  this  affair  of  Mr.  Robarts  and  the  money." 
And  then  there  w\as  nothing  more  said  about  it. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

PALACE     BLESSINGS. 

And  now^,  at  this  period,  terrible  rumors  found  their 
way  into  Barchester,  and  flew  about  the  cathedral  towers 
and  round  the  cathedral  door — ay,  and  into  the  canons' 
houses  and  the  humbler  sitting-rooms  of  the  vicars  choral. 
Whether  they  made  their  way  from  thence  up  to  the  bish- 
op's palace,  or  whether  they  descended  from  the  palace  to 
the  Close,  I  will  not  pretend  to  say.  But  they  were  shock- 
ing, unnatural,  and,  no  doubt,  grievous  to  all  those  excel- 
lent ecclesiastical  hearts  which  cluster  so  thickly  in  those 
quarters. 

The  first  of  these  had  reference  to  the  new  prebendary, 
and  to  the  disgrace  which  he  had  brought  on  the  chapter — 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  491 

a  disgrace,  as  some  of  tbeni  boasted,  which  Barchester  had 
never  known  before.  This,  however,  like  most  other  boasts, 
was  hardly  true,  for  within  but  a  very  few  years  there  had 
been  an  execution  in  the  house  of  a  late  prebendary,  old 
Dr.  Stanhope,  and  on  that  occasion  the  doctor  himself  had 
been  forced  to  fly  away  to  Italy,  starting  in  the  night,  lest 
he  also  should  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  Philistines,  as  well 
as  his  chairs  and  tables. 

"It  is  a  scandalous  shame,"  said  Mrs.  Proudie,  speaking 
not  of  the  old  doctor,  but  of  the  new  offender — "a  scandal- 
ous shame;  and  it  would  only  sei've  him  right  if  the  gown 
were  stripped  from  his  back." 

"I  suppose  his  living  will  be  sequestrated,"  said  a  young 
minor  canon  who  attended  much  to  the  ecclesiastical  in- 
junctions of  the  lady  of  the  diocese,  and  was  deservedly 
held  in  high  favor.  If  Framley  were  sequestrated,  why 
should  not  he,  as  well  as  another,  undertake  the  duty — 
with  such  stipend  as  the  bishop  might  award  ? 

"  I  am  told  that  he  is  over  head  and  ears  in  debt,"  said 
the  future  Mrs. Tickler,  "and  chiefly  for  horses. which  he 
has  bought  and  not  paid  for." 

"  I  see  him  riding  very  splendid  animals  when  he  comes 
over  for  the  cathedral  duties,"  said  the  minor  canon. 

"The  sheriff's  ofiicers  are  in  the  house  at  present,  I  am 
told,"  said  Mrs,  Proudie. 

"And  is  not  he  in  jail?"  said  Mrs.  Tickler. 

"If  not,  he  ought  to  be,"  said  Mrs. Tickler's  mother. 

"And  no  doubt  soon  will  be,"  said  the  minor  canon, 
"  for  I  hear  that  he  is  linked  up  with  a  most  discreditable 
gang  of  persons." 

This  was  Avhat  was  said  in  the  palace  on  that  heading ; 
and  though,  no  doubt,  more  spirit  and  poetry  was  display- 
ed there  than  in  the  houses  of  the  less  gifted  clergy,  this 
shows  the  manner  in  which  the  misfortune  of  Mr.  Robarts 
was  generally  discussed.  Nor,  indeed,  had  he  deserved 
any  better  treatment  at  their  hands.  But  his  name  did  not 
run  the  gauntlet  for  the  usual  nine  days,  nor,  indeed,  did 
his  fame  endure  at  its  height  for  more  than  two.  This 
sudden  fall  Avas  occasioned  by  other  tidings  of  a  still  more 
distressing  nature — by  a  rumor  which  so  affected  Mrs. 
Proudie  that  it  caused,  as  she  said,  her  blood  to  creep. 
And  she  was  very  careful  that  the  blood  of  others  should 
creep  also,  if  the  blood  of  others  was  equally  sensitive.  It 
was  said  that  Lord  Dumbello  had  jilted  Miss  Grantly. 


492  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

From  wliat  adverse  spot  in  the  world  these  cruel  tidings 
fell  upon  Barchester  I  have  never  been  able  to  discover. 
We  know  how  quickly  rumor  flies,,making  herself  common 
through  all  the  cities.  That  Mrs.  Proudie  should  have 
known  more  of  the  facts  connected  with  the  Ilartletop  fam- 
ily than  any  one  else  in  Barchester  was  not  surj^rising,  see- 
ing that  she  was  so  much  more  conversant  with  the  great 
world  in  which  such  people  lived.  She  knew,  and  was 
therefore  correct  enough  in  declaring,  that  Lord  Dumbello 
had  already  jilted  one  other  young  lady — the  Lady  Julia 
MacMull,  to  whom  he  had  been  engaged  three  seasons 
back,  and  that  therefore  his  character  in  such  matters  was 
not  to  be  trusted.  That  Lady  Julia  had  been  a  terrible 
iiirt,  and  greatly  given  to  waltzing  with  a  certain  German 
count  with  whom  she  had  since  gone  off — that,  I  suppose, 
Mrs.  Proudie  did  not  know,  much  as  she  was  conversant 
Avith  the  great  world,  seeing  that  she  said  nothing  about 
it  to  any  of  her  ecclesiastical  listeners  on  the  present  occa- 
sion. 

'  "  It  will  be  a  terrible  warning,  Mrs.  Quiverful,  to  ns  all 
— a  most  useful  warning  to  us — not  to  trust  to  the  things 
of  this  world.  I  fear  they  made  no  inquiry  about  this 
young  nobleman  before  they  agreed  that  his  name  should 
be  linked  with  that  of  their  daughter."  This  she  said  to 
the  wife  of  the  present  warden  of  Hiram's  Hospital,  a  lady 
■who  had  received  favors  from  her,  and  was  therefore  bound 
to  listen  attentively  to  her  voice. 

"  But  I  hope  it  may  not  be  true,"  said  Mrs.  Quiverful, 
who,  in  spite  of  the  allegiance  due  by  her  to  Mrs.  Proudie, 
had  reasons  of  her  own  for  wishing  well  to  the  Grantly 
family. 

"  I  hope  so,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Proudie,  with  a  slight 
tinge  of  anger  in  her  voice ;  "  but  I  fear  that  there  is  no 
doubt.  And  I  must  confess  that  it  is  no  more  than  we  had 
a  right  to  expect.  I  hope  that  it  may  be  taken  by  all  of 
us  as  a  lesson,  and  an  ensample,  and  a  teaching  of  the  Lord's 
mercy.  And  I  wish  you  would  request  your  husband — 
— from  me,  Mrs.  Quiverful — to  dwell  on  this  subject  in 
morning  and  evening  lecture  at  the  hospital  on  Sabbath 
next,  showing  how  false  is  the  trust  which  we  put  in  the 
good  things  of  this  world  ;"  which  behest,  to  a  certain  ex- 
tent, Mr.  Quiverful  did  obey,  feeling  that  a  quiet  life  in 
I>archester  was  of  great  value  to  him  ;  but  ho  did  not  go 


FIIA^IILEY    PARSONAGi:.  493 

SO  far  as  to  caution  his  hearers,  "who  consisted  of  the  aged 
bedesmen  of  the  liospital,  against  matrimonial  projects  of 
an  ambitious  nature.  . 

In  this  case,  as  in  all  others  of  the  kind,  the  report  was 
known  to  all  the  chapter  before  it  had  been  heard  by  the 
archdeacon  or  his  wife.  The  dean  heard  it,  and  disregard- 
ed it,  as  did  also  the  dean's  wife — at  first ;  and  those  who 
generally  sided  with  the  Grantlys  in  the  diocesan  battles 
])ooh-poohed  the  tidings,  saying  to  each  other  that  both 
tlie  archdeacon  and  Mrs.  Grantly  were  very  well  able  to 
take  care  of  their  own  aifairs.  But  dropping  water  hol- 
lows a  stone ;  and  at  last  it  was  admitted  on  all  sides  that 
there  was  ground  for  fear — on  all  sides  except  at  Plum- 
stead. 

"I  am  sure  there  is  nothing  in  it — I  really  am  sure  of 
it,"  said  Mrs.  Arabin,  whispering  to  her  sister;  "but,  after 
turning  it  over  in  my  mind,  I  thought  it  right  to  tell  you. 
And  yet  I  don't  know  now  but  I  am  wrong." 

"  Quite  right,  dearest  Eleanor,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly,  "  and 
I  am  much  obliged  to  you.  But  we  understand  it,  you 
know.  It  comes,  of  course,  like  all  other  Christian  bless- 
ings, from  the  palace."  And  then  there  was  nothing  more 
said  about  it  between  Mrs.  Grantly  and  her  sister. 

But  on  the  following  morning  there  arrived  a  letter  by 
post,  addressed  to  Mrs.  Grantly,  bearing  the  postmark  of 
Littlebath.     The  letter  ran  : 

*'Mat)a:\i, — It  is  known  to  the  writer  that  Lord  Dumbello  has  ar 
ranfjed  with  certain  friends  how  he  may  escape  from  his  present  engage- 
ment. I  think,  therefore,  that  it  is  my  duty  as  a  Christian  to  warn  you 
of  this.  Yours  truly,  A  Well-wishek." 

Now  it  had  happened  that  the  embryo  Mrs.  Tickler's 
most  intimate  bosom  friend  and  confidante  was  known  at 
Plumstead  to  live  at  Littlebath,  and  it  had  also  happened 
— most  unfortunately — that  the  embryo  Mrs.  Tickler,  in  the 
warmth  of  her  neighborly  regard,  liad  written  a  friendly 
line  to  her  friend  Griselda  Grantly,  congratulating  her  with 
all  female  sincerity  on  her  splendid  nuptials  with  the  Lord 
Dumbello*. 

"  It  is  not  her  natural  hand,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly,  talking 
the  matter  over  with  her  husband,  "  but  you  may  be  sure 
it  has  come  from  her.  It  is  a  part  of  the  new  Christianity 
which  we  learn  day  by  day  from  the  palace  teaching." 

But  these  thinsrs  had  some  effect  on  the  archdeacon's 


494  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

mind.  He  had  learned  lately  the  story  of  Lady  Julia  Mac 
Mull,  and  was  not  sure  that  his  son-in-law — as  ought  to  be 
about  to  be — had  been  entirely  blameless  in  that  matter. 
And  then  in  these  days  Lord  Dumbello  made  no  gr-eat 
sign.  Immediately  on  Griselda's  return  to  Plumstead  he 
had  sent  her  a  magnificent  present  of  emeralds,  which,  how- 
ever, had  come  to  her  direct  from  the  jeweler's,  and  might 
have  been — and  probably  Avas — ordered  by  his  man  of  busi- 
ness. Since  that  he  had  neither  come,  nor  sent,  nor  writ- 
ten. Griselda  did  not  seem  to  be  in  any  way  annoyed  by 
this  absence  of  the  usual  sign  of  love,  and  went  on  steadily 
with  her  great  duties.  "  Nothing,"  as  she  told  lier  moth- 
er, "  had  been  said  about  writing,  and,  therefore,  she  did 
not  expect  it."  But  the  archdeacon  was  not  quite  at  his 
ease.  "  Keep  Dumbello  up  to  his  P's  and  Q's,  you  know," 
a  friend  of  his  liad  whispered  to  him  at  his  club.  By 
heavens,  yes.  The  archdeacon  was  not  a  man  to  bear  with 
indifference  a  wrong  in  such  a  quarter.  In  spite  of  his 
clerical  profession,  few  men  were  more  inclined  to  fight 
against  personal  wrongs,  and  few  men  more  able. 

"  Can  there  be  any  thing  wrong,  I  Avonder  ?"  said  he  to 
his  wife.  "  Is  it  worth  while  that  I  should  go  up  to  Lon- 
don?" But  Mrs.  Grantly  attributed  it  all  to  the  palace 
doctrine.  What  could  be  more  natural,  I'ooking  at  all  the 
circumstances  of  the  Tickler  engagement  ?  She  therefore 
gave  her  voice  against  any  steps  being  taken  by  the  arch- 
deacon. 

A  day  or  two  after  that  Mrs.  Proudie  met  Mrs.  Arabin 
in  the  Close,  and  condoled  with  her  openly  on  the  termina- 
tion of  the  marriage  treaty — quite  openly,  for  Mrs.  Tickler 
— as  she  was  to  be — was  with  her  mother,  and  Mrs.  Arabin 
was  accompanied  by  her  sister-in-law,  Mary  Bold. 

"  It  must  be  very  grievous  to  Mrs.  Grantly — very  griev- 
ous indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Proudie,  "  and  I  sincerely  feel  for 
her.  But,  Mrs.  Arabin,  all  these  lessons  are  sent  to  us  for 
our  eternal  welfare." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Arabin.  "  But  as  to  this  special 
lesson,  I  am  inclined  to  doubt  that  it — " 

"Ah-h!  I  fear  it  is  too  true.  I  fear  there  is  no  room 
for  doubt.  Of  course  you  are  aware  that  Lord  Dumbello 
is  off  for  the  Continent*?"* 

Mrs.  Arabin  was  not  aware  of  it,  and  she  was  obliged  to 
admit  as  much. 


FKAilLEY    PARSONAGE.  495 

"  He  started  four  clays  ago,  by  Avay  of  Boulogne,"  said 
Mrs.  Tickler,  who  seemed  to  be  very  well  up  in  the  whole 
afiair.  "  I  am  so  sorry  for  poor  dear  Griselda.  I  am  told 
she  has  got  all  her  things.     It  is  such  a  pity,  you  know." 

"  But  why  should  not  Lord  Dumbello  come  back  from 
the  Continent?"  said  Miss  Bold,  very  quietly. 

"  Why  not,  indeed  ?  I'm  sure  I  hope  he  may,"  said  Mrs. 
Proudie.  "  And  no  doubt  he  will,  some  day.  But  if  he 
be  such  a  man  as  they  say  lie  is,  it  is  really  well  for  Gri- 
selda that  she  should  be  relieved  from  such  a  marriage,  for, 
after  all,  Mrs.  Arabin,  what  are  the  things  of  tliis  Avorld  ? — 
dust  beneath  our  feet,  ashes  between  our  teeth,  grass  cut 
for  the  oven,  vanity,  vexation,  and  nothing  more !" — well 
pleased  with  which  variety  of  Christian  metaphors  Mrs. 
Proudie  walked  on,  still  muttering,  however,  something 
about  worms  and  grubs,  by  which  she  intended  to  signify 
her  own  species  and  the  Dumbello  and  Grantly  sects  of  it 
in  particular. 

This  now  had  gone  so  far  that  Mrs.  Arabin  conceived 
herself  bound  in  duty  to  see  her  sister,  and  it  was  then  set- 
tled in  consultation  at  Plumstead  that  the  archdeacon 
should  call  officially  at  the  palace  and  beg  that  the  rumor 
might  be  contradicted.  This  he  did  early  on  the  next 
morning,  and  was  shown  into  the  bishop's  study,  in  which 
he  found  both  his  lordship  and  Mrs.  Proudie.  The  bishop 
rose  to  greet  him  with  special  civility,  smiling  his  very 
sweetest  on  him,  as  though  of  all  his  clergy  the  archdeacon 
were  the  favorite ;  but  Mrs.  Proudie  wore  something  of  a 
gloomy  aspect,  as  though  she  knew  that  such  a  visit  at  such 
an  hour  must  have  reference  to  some  special  business.  The 
morning  calls  made  by  the  archdeacon  at  the  palace  in  the 
way  of  ordinary  civility  were  not  numerous. 

On  the  present  occasion  he  dashed  at  once  into  his  sub- 
ject. "  I  have  called  this  morning,  Mrs.  Proudie,"  said  he, 
"because  I  wish  to  ask  a  favor  from  you."  Whereupon 
Mrs.  Proudie  bowed. 

"  Mrs.  Proudie  will  be  most  happy,  I  am  sure,"  said  the 
bishop. 

"  I  find  that  some  foolish  people  have  been  talking  in 
Barchester  about  my  daughter,"  said  the  archdc^acon,  "  and 
I  wish  to  ask  Mrs.  Proudie — " 

Most  women  under  such  circumstances  would  have  felt 
the  awkwardness  of  their  situation,  and  would  have  pre- 


490  FllAMLEY    PAKSONAGE. 

pared  to  eat  their  past  words  with  wry  faces.  But  not  so 
]Mrs.  Proudie.  Mrs.  Grantly  had  had  the  imprudence  to 
throw  Mr.  Slope  in  her  face — there,  in  her  own  drawing- 
room,  and  she  was  resolved  to  be  revenged.  Mrs.  Grant- 
ly, too,  had  ridiculed  the  Tickler  match,  and  no  too  great 
niceness  should  now  prevent  Mrs.  Proudie  fi'om  sj^eaking 
her  mind  about  the  Dumbello  match. 

"  A  great  many  people  are  talking  about  her,  I  am  sorry 
to  say,"  said  Mrs. Proudie;  "but,  poor  dear,  it  is  not  her 
fault.  It  might  have  happened  to  any  girl ;  only,  perhaps, 
a  little  more  care — you'll  excuse  me,  Dr.  Grantly." 

"I  have  come  here  to  allude  to  a  report  which  has  been 
spread  about  in  Barchester  that  the  match  between  Lord 
Dumbello  and  my  daughter  has  been  broken  off;  and — " 

"Every  body  in  Barchester  knows  it,  I  believe,"  said 
Mrs.  Proudie. 

— "and,"  continued  the  archdeacon, "  to  request  that  that 
report  may  be  contradicted." 

"Contradicted !  Why,  he  has  gone  right  away — out  of 
the  country !" 

"  Never  mind  where  he  has  gone  to,  Mrs.  Proudie ;  I 
beg  that  the  report  may  be  contradicted." 

"  You'll  have  to  go  round  to  every  house  in  Barchester 
then,"  said  she. 

"By  no  means,"  replied  the  archdeacon.  "  And  perhaps 
it  may  be  right  that  I  should  exi^lain  to  the  bishop  that  I 
came  hei-e  because — " 

"The  bishop  knows  nothing  about  it,"  said  Mrs. Proudie. 

"  Nothing  in  the  Avorld,"  said  his  lordship.  "  And  I  am 
sure  I  hope  that  the  young  lady  may  not  be  disappointed." 

— "because  the  matter  was  so  distinctly  mentioned  to 
Mrs.  Arabin  by  yourself  yesterday." 

"  Distinctly  mentioned  !  Of  course  it  w^as  distinctly 
mentioned.  There  are  some  things  which  can't  be  kept 
under  a  bushel.  Dr.  Grantly,  and  this  seems  to  be  one  of 
them.  Your  going  about  in  this  way  won't  make  Lord 
Dumbello  marry  the  young  lady." 

That  was  true ;  nor  would  it  make  Mrs. Proudie  hold  her 
tongue.  Perhaps  the  archdeacon  was  wrong  in  his  present 
errand,  and  so  he  now  began  to  bethink  himself.  "At  any 
rate,"  said  he,  "w^hen  I  tell  you  that  there  is  no  ground 
whatever  for  such. a  report,  you  will  do  me  the  kindness  to 
sav  that,  as  far  ns  you  are  concornod,  it  shnll  iro  no  far- 


FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  4  97 

tlier.  I  tliiiik,  iny  lord,  I  am  not  asking  too  much  in  asking 
that." 

"The  bishop  knows  nothing  about  it,"  said  Mrs. Prou- 
die  again. 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  said  the  bishop. 

"And  as  1  must  protest  that  I  believe  the  information 
which  has  reached  me  on  this  head,"  said  Mrs.  Proudie,  "I 
do  not  see  how  it  is  possible  that  I  should  contradict  it. 
I  can  easily  understand  your  feelings.  Dr.  Grantly.  Con- 
sidering your  daughter's  position,  the  match  Avas,  as  re- 
gards earthly  wealth,  a  very  great  one.  I  do  not  wonder 
that  you  should  be  grieved  at  its  being  broken  off;  but  I 
trust  that  this  sorrow^  may  eventuate  in  a  blessing  to  you 
and  to  Miss  Griselda.  These  worldly  disappointments  are 
precious  balms,  and  I  trust  you  know  how  to  accept  them 
as  such." 

The  fact  was  that  Dr.  Grantly  had  done  altogether  wrong 
in  coming  to  the  palace.  His  wife  might  have  some  chance 
with  Mrs.  Proudie,  but  he  had  none.  Since  she  had  come 
to  Barchester,  he  had  had  only  two  or  tln*ee  encounters 
Avith  her,  and  in  all  of  these  he  had  gone  to  the  wall.  His 
visits  to  the  palace  ahvays  resulted  in  his  leaving  the  pres- 
ence of  the  inhabitants  in  a  frame  of  mind  by  no  means  de- 
sirable, and  he  now  found  that  he  had  to  do  so  once  again. 
He  could  not  compel  Mrs.  Proudie  to  say  that  the  rei^ort 
was  untrue,  nor  could  he  condescend  to  make  counter  hits 
at  her  about  her  own  daughter,  as  his  wife  would  have 
done.  And  thus,  having  utterly  iailedj  he  got  up  and  took 
his  leave. 

But  the  worst  of  the  matter  was,  that,  in  going  home,  he 
could  not  divest  his  mind  of  the  idea  that  there  might  bo 
some  truth  in  the  report.  What  if  Lord  Dumbello  had 
gone  to  the  Continent  resolved  to  send  back  from  thence 
some  reason  why  it  was  impossible  that  he  should  make 
Miss  Grantly  his  wife  ?  Such  things  had  been  done  before 
now  by  men  in  his  rank.  Whether  or  no  Mrs.  Tickler  had 
been  the  letter-writing  well-wisher  from  Littlebath,  or  had 
induced  her  friend  to  be  so,  it  did  seem  manifest  to  him. 
Dr.  Grantly,  that  Mrs.  Proudie  absolutely  believed  the  re- 
port which  she  promulgated  so  diligently.  The  Avish  might 
be  father  to  the  thought,  no  doubt;  but  that  the  thought 
Avas  truly  there,  Dr.  Grantly  could  not  induce  himself  to 
disbelieve. 


498  FEAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

His  wife  was  less  credulous,  and  to  a  certain  degree  com- 
forted him;  but  that  evening  he  received  a  letter  which 
greatly  confirmed  the  suspicions  set  on  foot  by  Mrs. 
Proudie,  and  even  shook  his  wife's  faith  in  Lord  Dumbello. 
It  w^as  from  a  mere  acquaintance,  who  in  the  ordinary 
course  of  things  would  not  have  wa-itten  to  him.  And  the 
bulk  of  the  letter  referred  to  ordinary  things,  as  to  which 
the  gentleman  in  question  would  hardly  have  thought  of 
giving  himself  the  trouble  to  w^rite  a  letter.  But  at  the 
end  of  the  note  he  said : 

"  Of  course  you  are  aware  that  Dumbello  is  off  to  Paris ; 
I  have  not  heard  whether  the  exact  day  of  his  return  is 
fixed." 

"  It  is  true,  then,"  said  the  archdeacon,  striking  the  libra- 
ry table  with  his  hand,  and  becoming  absolutely  white  about 
the  mouth  and  jaws. 

"  It  can  not  be,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly ;  but  even  she  was 
now  trembling. 

"  If  it  be  so,  I'll  drag  him  back  to  England  by  the  collar 
of  his  coat,  and  disgrace  him  before  the  steps  of  his  father's 
hall." 

And  the  archdeacon,  as  he  uttered  the  threat,  looked  his 
character  as  an  irate  British  father  much  better  than  he  did 
his  other  character  as  a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  En- 
gland. The  archdeacon  had  been  greatly  w^orsted  by  Mrs. 
Proudie,  but  he  was  a  man  w^ho  knew  how  to  fight  his  bat- 
tles among  men — sometimes  without  too  close  a  regard  to 
his  cloth. 

"  Had  Lord  Dumbello  intended  any  sucli  thing,  he  would 
have  written,  or  got  some  friend  to  write  by  \his  time," 
said  Mrs.  Grantly.  "  It  is  quite  possible  tliat  he  might 
wish  to  be  off,  but  he  would  be  too  chary  of  his  name  not 
to  endeavor  to  do  so  with  decency." 

Thus  the  matter  was  discussed,  and  it  appeared  to  them 
both  to  be  so  serious  that  the  archdeacon  resolved  to  go  at 
once  to  London.  That  Lord  Dumbello  had  gone  to  France 
he  did  not  doubt ;  but  he  would  find  some  one  in  town  ac- 
quainted with  the  young  man's  intentions,  and  he  would, 
no  doubt,  be  able  to  hear  when  his  return  was  expected. 
If  there  were  real  reason  for  apprehension,  he  would  follow 
the  runagate  to  the  Continent,  but  he  w^ould  not  do  this 
w^ithout  absolute  knowledge.  According  to  Lord  Dum- 
bello's  present  engagements,  he  was  bound  to  present  him- 


FR.VMLEY  PARSONAGE.  499 

self  in  August  next  at  Plumstead  Episcopi,  with  the  view 
of  then  and  there  taking  Griselda  Grantly  in  marriage  ;  but 
if  he  kept  liis  word  in  this  respect,  no  one  liad  a  right  to 
quarrel  with  him  for  going  to  Paris  in  the  mean  time. 
Most  expectant  bridegrooms  would,  no  doubt,  imder  such 
circumstances,  have  declared  their  intentions  to  their  fu- 
ture brides;  but  if  Lord  Dumbello  were  different  from 
others,  who  had  a  right  on  that  account  to  be  indignant 
with  him  ?  He  was  unlike  other  men  in  other  things,  and 
especially  unlike  other  men  in  being  the  eldest  son  of  the 
Marquis  of  llartletoj).  It  would  be  all  very  well  for  Tick- 
ler to  proclaim  his  whereabouts  from  week  to  w^eek,  but 
the  eldest  son  of  a  marquis  might  find  it  inconvenient  to 
be  so  precise.  Nevertheless,  the  archdeacon  thought  it 
only  prudent  to  go  up  to  London. 

"Susan,"  said  the  archdeacon  to  his  wife,  just  as  he  was 
starting — at  this  moment  neither  of  them  Avere  in  the  hap- 
piest spirits — "  I  think  I  would  say  a  word  of  caution  to 
Griselda." 

"  Do  you  feel  so  much  doubt  about  it  as  that  V  said  Mrs. 
Grantly.  But  even  she  did  not  dare  to  put  a  direct  nega- 
tive to  this  proposal,  so  much  had  she  been  moved  by  what 
she  had  heard. 

"  I  think  I  would  do  so,  not  frightening  her  more  than  I 
could  help.  It  w'ill  lessen  the  blow  if  it  \)Q  that  the  blow 
is  to  fall." 

"  It  wall  kill  me,"  said  Mrs.  Grantly,  "  but  I  think  that 
she  will  be  able  to  bear  it." 

On  the  next  morning,  Mrs.  Grantly,  with  much  cunning 
preparation,  went  about  the  task  which  her  husband  had 
left  her  to  perform.  It  took  her  long  to  do,  for  she  was 
very  cunning  in  the  doing  of  it ;  but  at  last  it  dropped  from 
her  in  w^ords  that  there  w^as  a  possibility — a  bare  possibili- 
ty— that  some  disappointment  might  even  yet  be  in  store 
for  them. 

"Do  you  mean,  mamma,  that  the  marriage  w'ill  be  put 
off?" 

"  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  I  think  it  will ;  God  forbid ! 
but  it  is  just  possible.  I  dare  say  that  I  am  very  wrong  to 
tell  you  of  this,  but  I  know  that  you  have  sense  enough  to 
bear  it.  Paj^a  has  gone  to  London,  and  w^e  shall  hear  from 
him  soon." 

"Then,  mamma,  I  had  better  give  them  orders  not  to  go 
on  with  the  marking." 


500  FUAMLEY    PAKSONAGE, 


CHAPTER  XLYI. 

LADY  LUFTOn's  REQUEST. 

The  bailiffs  on  that  day  had  their  meals  regular,  and 
their  beer,  which  state  of  things,  together  with  an  absence 
of  all  duty  in  the  way  of  making  inventories  and  the  like, 
I  take  to  be  the  earthly  paradise  of  bailiffs ;  and  on  the 
next  morning  they  walked  off  with  civil  speeches  and  many 
apologies  as  to  their  intrusion.  "They  was  very  sorr}-," 
they  said,  "  to  have  troubled  a  gen'leman  as  were  a  gen'lc- 
man,  but  in  their  way  of  business  what  could  they  do  ?" 
To  which  one  of  them  added  a  remark  that  "  business  is 
business."  This  statement  I  am  not  prepared  to  contra- 
dict ;  but  I  would  recommend  all  men,  in  choosing  a  profes- 
sion, to  avoid  any  that  may  require  an  apology  at  every 
turn — either  an  apology  or  else  a  somewhat  violent  asser- 
tion of  right.  Each  younger  male  reader  may  perhaps  re- 
ply that  he  has  no  thought  of  becoming  a  sheriff's  officer; 
but  then  are  there  not  other  cognate  lines  of  life  to  which 
perhaps  the  attention  of  some  such  maybe  attracted? 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  on  which  they  went  Mark  re- 
ceived a  note  from  Lady  Lufton  begging  him  to  call  early 
on  the  following  morning,  and  immediately  after  breakfast 
he  went  across  to  Framley  Court.  It  may  be  imagined 
that  he  was  not  in  a  very  happy  frame  of  mind,  but  he  felt 
the  truth  of  his  wife's  remark  that  the  first  23lunge  into  cold 
water  was  always  the  Avorst.  Lady  Lufton  was  not  a  wom- 
an who  would  continually  throw  his  disgrace  into  his  teeth, 
however  terribly  cold  might  be  the  first  words  with  which 
she  spoke  of  it.  He  strove  hard  as  he  entered  her  room  to 
carry  his  usual  look  and  bearing,  and  to  ])ut  out  his  hand 
to  greet  her  with  his  customary  freedom,  but  he  knew  that 
he  failed.  And  it  may  be  said  that  no  good  man  who  has 
broken  down  in  his  goodness  can  carry  the  disgrace  of  his 
fall  without  some  look  of  shame.  When  a  man  is  able  to 
do  that, he  ceases  to  be  in  any  way  good.* 

"  This  has  been  a  distresshig  affair,"  said  Lady  Lufton, 
after  her  first  salutation. 


FJJAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  501 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  he.  "  It  has  been  very  sad  for  poor 
Fanny." 

"Well,  we  must  all  have  our  little  periods  of  grief;  and 
it  may  perhaps  be  fortunate  if  none  of  us  have  worse  than 
this.     She  will  not  complain,  herself,  I  am  sure." 

"  She  complain  !" 

"  No,  I  am  sure  she  will  not.  And  now  all  I've  got  to 
say,  Mr.  Robarts,  is  this :  I  hope  you  and  Lufton  have  had 
enough  to  do  with  black  sheep  to  last  you  your  lives ;  for  I 
must  protest  that  your  late  friend  Mr.  Sowerby  is  a  black 
sheep." 

In  no  possible  way  could  Lady  Lufton  have  alluded  to 
the  matter  with  greater  kindness  than  in  thus  joining 
Mark's  name  with  that  of  her  son.  It  took  away  all  the 
bitterness  of  the  rebuke,  and  made  the  subject  one  on  which 
even  he  might  have  spoken  without  difficulty.  But  now, 
seeing  that  she  was  so  gentle  to  him,  he  could  not  but  lean 
the  more  hardly  on  himself. 

"  I  have  been  very  foolish,"  said  he — "  very  foolish,  and 
very  wrong,  and  very  wicked." 

"  Very  foolish,  I  believe,  Mr.  Robarts,  to  speak  frankly 
and  once  for  all ;  but,  as  I  also  believe,  nothing  worse.  I 
thought  it  best  for  both  of  us  that  we  should  just  have  one 
word  about  it,  and  now  I  recommend  that  the  matter  be 
never  mentioned  between  us  again." 

"  God  bless  you,  Lady  Lufton,"  he  said.  "  I  think  no 
man  ever  had  such  a  friend  as  you  are." 

She  had  been  very  quiet  during  the  interview,  and  almost 
subdued,  not  speaking  with  the  animation  that  was  usual 
to  her ;  for  this  affiiir  with  Mr.  Robarts  was  not  the  only 
one"  she  had  to  complete  that  day,  nor,  perhaps,  the  one 
most  difficult  of  completion.  But  she  cheered  up  a  little 
under  the  praise  now  bestowed  on  her,  for  it  was  the  sort 
of  praise  she  loved  best.  She  did  hope,  and,  2:)erhaps,  flat- 
ter herself,  that  she  was  a  good  friend. 

"  You  must  be  good  enough,  then,  to  gratify  my  friend- 
ship by  coming  ujd  to  dinner  this  evening ;  and  Fanny  too, 
of  course.  I  can  not  take  any  excuse,  for  the  matter  is  com- 
pletely arranged.  I  have  a  particular  reason  for  wishing 
it."  These  last  violent  injunctions  had  been  added  because 
Lady  Lufton  had  seen  a  refusal  rising  in  the  parson's  face. 
Poor  Lady  Lufton !  Her  enemies — for  even  she  had  ene- 
mies— used  to  declare  of  her  that  an  invitation  to  dinner 


602  FRA31LEY    PARSOXAGE. 

was  the  only  method  of  showing  itself  of  which  her  good- 
humor  Avas  cognizant.  But  let  me  ask  of  her  enemies 
whether  it  is  not  as  good  a  method  as  any  other  known  to 
be  extant  ?  Under  such  orders  as  these,  obedience  was  of 
course  a  necessity,  and  he  promised  that  he,  with  his  wife, 
would  come  across  to  dinner.  And  then,  Avhen  he  went 
away.  Lady  Lufton  ordered  her  carriage. 

During  these  doings  at  Framley  Lucy  Robarts  still  re- 
mained at  Hogglestock,  nursing  Mrs.  Crawley.  Nothing 
occurred  to  take  her  back  to  Framley ;  for  the  same  note 
from  Fanny  which  gave  her  the  first  tidings  of  the  arrival 
of  the  Philistines,  told  her  also  of  their  departure,  and  also 
of  the  source  from  whence  relief  had  reached  them.  "  Don't 
come,  therefore,  for  that  reason,"  said  the  note,  "  but,  nev- 
ertheless, do  come  as  quickly  as  you  can,  for  the  whole 
house  is  sad  without  you." 

On  the  morning  after  the  receipt  of  this  note  Lucy  was 
sitting,  as  was  now  usual  with  her,  beside  an  old  arm-chair 
to  which  her  patient  had  lately  been  promoted.  The  fever 
had  gone,  and  Mrs.  Crawley  Avas  slowly  regaining  her 
strength — very  slowly,  and  Avith  frequent  caution  from  the 
Silverbridge  doctor  that  any  attempt  at  being  w^ell  too  fast 
might  again  precipitate  her  into  an  abyss  of  illness  and  do- 
mestic inefficiency. 

"I  really  think  I  can  get  about  to-morrow,"  said  she; 
*'  and  then,  dear  Lucy,  I  need  not  keep  you  longer  from 
your  home." 

"You  are  in  a  great  hurry  to  get  rid  of  me,  I  think.  I 
suppose  Mr.  Crawley  has  been  complaining  again  about  the 
cream  in  his  tea."  Mr.  Crawley  had  on  one  occasion  stated 
his  assured  conviction  that  surreptitious  daily  supplies  were 
being  brought  into  the  house,  because  he  had  detected  the 
presence  of  cream  instead  of  milk  in  his  own  cup.  As, 
however,  the  cream  had  been  going  for  sundry  days  before 
this,  Miss  Robarts  had  not  thought  much  of  his  ingenuity 
in  making  the  discovery. 

"Ah!  you  do  not  know  how^  he  speaks  of  you  w'hen 
your  back  is  turned." 

"And  how  does  he  speak  of  me?  I  know  you  would 
not  have  the  courage  to  tell  me  the  whole." 

"  No,  I  have  not,  for  you  would  think  it  absurd,  coming 
from  one  who  looks  like  him.  He  says  that  if  he  were  to 
wa'ite  a  poem  about  w^omanhood  he  would  make  you  the 
heroine." 


FEAMLEY    PARSONAGE.  503 

"  With  a  creara-jug  in  my  hand,  or  else  sewing  buttons 
on  to  a  shirt  collar.  But  he  never  forgave  me  about  the 
mutton-broth.  He  told  me,  in  so  many  words,  that  I  was 
a — storyteller.  And,  for  the  matter  of  that,  my  dear,  so  I 
Avas." 

"  He  told  me  that  yoii  were  an  angel." 

"  Goodness  gracious !" 

"  A  ministering  angel.  And  so  you  have  been.  I  can 
almost  feel  it  in  my*  heart  to  be  glad  that  I  have  been  ill, 
seeing  that  I  have  had  you  for  my  friend." 

"But  you  might  have  had  that  good  fortune  without  the 
fever." 

"  No,  I  should  not.  In  my  married  life  I  have  made  no 
friends  till  my  illness  brought  you  to  me;  nor  should  I 
ever  really  have  known  you  but  for  that.  How  should  I 
get  to  know  any  one?" 

"  You  Avill  now,  Mrs.  Crawley,  will  you  not  ?  Promise 
that  you  will.  You  will  come  to  us  at  Framley  when  you 
are  well  ?     You  have  promised  already,  you  know." 

"  You  made  me  do  so  when  I  was  too  "weak  to  refuse." 

"And  I  shall  make  you  keep  your  promise  too.  He 
shall  come  also,  if  he  likes ;  but  you  shall  come,  whether  he 
likes  or  no.  And  I  won't  hear  a  word  about  your  old 
dresses.  Old  dresses  will  wear  as  well  at  Framley  as  at 
Hogglestock." 

From  all  which  it  will  appear  that  Mrs.  Crawley  and 
Lucy  Robarts  had  become  very  intimate  during  this  period 
of  the  nursing,  as  two  women  always  will,  or  at  least  should 
do,  when  shut  up  for  wrecks  together  in  the  same  sick-room. 

The  conversation  was  still  going  on  between  them  when 
the  sound  of  wheels  was  heard  upon  the  road.  It  was  no 
highway  that  passed  before  the  house,  and  carriages  of  any 
sort  were  not  frequent  there. 

"  It  is  Fanny,  I  am  sure,"  said  Lucy,  rising  from  her 
chair. 

"There  are  two  horses,"  said  Mrs.  Crawley,  distinguish- 
ing the  noise  with  the  accurate  sense  of  hearing  which  is 
always  attached  to  sickness ;  "  and  it  is  hot  the  noise  of 
the  pony  carriage." 

"  It  is  a  regular  carriage,"  said  Lucy,  speaking  from  the 
window,  "  and  stopping  here.  It  is  somebody  from  Fram- 
ley Court,  for  I  know  the  servant." 

As  she  spoke  a  blush  came  to  her  forehead.     Might  it 


504  FKAMLEY    TAKSOXAGE. 

not  be  Lord  Lufton  ?  she  thought  to  herself,  forgettmg  at 
the  moment  that  Lord  Lufton  did  not  go  about  the" coun- 
try in  a  close  chariot  with  a  fat  footman.  Intimate  as  she 
had  become  with  Mrs.  Crawley,  she  had  said  nothing  to 
her  new  friend  on  the  subject  of  her  love  affiiir. 

The  carriage  stopped,  and  down  came  the  footman,  but 
nobody  spoke  to  him  from  the  inside. 

"He  has  probably  brought  something  from  Framley," 
said  Lucy,  having  cream  and  such  like  matters  in  her  mind ; 
for  cream  and  such  like  matters  had  come  from  Framley 
Court  more  than  once  during  her  sojourn  there.  "And 
the  carriage,  probably,  happened  to  be  coming  this  way." 

But  the  mystery  soon  elucidated  itself  partially,  or,  per- 
haps, became  more  mysterious  in  another  way.  The  red- 
armed  little  girl,  who  had  been  taken  away  by  her  fright- 
ened mother  in  the  first  burst  of  the  fever,  had  now  re- 
turned to  her  place,  and  at  the  present  moment  entered 
the  room,  with  awe-struck  face,  declaring  that  IMiss  Ro- 
barts  was  to  go  at  once  to  the  big  lady  in  the  carriage. 

"  I  suppose  it's  Lady  Lufton,"  said  Mrs.  Crawley. 

Lucy's  heart  was  so  absolutely  in  her  mouth  that  any 
kind  of  speech  was  at  the  moment  impossible  to  her.  Why 
should  Lady  Lufton  have  come  thither  to  Hogglestock, 
and  why  should  she  want  to  see  her,  Lucy  Robarts,  in  the 
carriage?  Had  not  every  thing  between  them  been  set- 
tled? And  yet —  Lucy,  in  the  moment  for  thought  that 
was  allowed  to  her,  could  not  determine  what  might  be 
the  probable  upshot  of  such  an  interview.  Her  chief  feel- 
ing was  a  desire  to  postpone  it  for  the  present  instant.  But 
the  red-armed  little  girl  would  not  allow  that. 

"  You  are  to  come  at  once,"  said  she. 

And  then  Lucy,  without  having  spoken  a  word,  got  up 
and  left  the  room.  She  Avalked  down  stairs,  along  the  lit- 
tle passage,  and  out  through  the  small  garden,  with  firm 
steps,  but  hardly  knowing  whither  she  went,  or  why.  Her 
presence  of  mind  and  self-possession  had  all  deserted  her. 
She  knew  that  she  M-as  unable  to  speak  as  she  should  do ; 
she  felt  that  she  would  have  to  regret  her  present  behavior, 
but  yet  she  could  not  help  herself.  Why  should  Lady 
Lufton  have  come  to  her  there  ?  She  went  on,  and  the  big 
footman  stood  witli  the  carriage  door  open.  She  stepped 
up  almost  unconsciously,  and,  without  knowing  how  she 
got  there,  she  found  herself  seated  by  Lady  Lufton. 


FRAMLEY    PAESOXAGE.  505 

To  tell  the  truth,  her  ladyship  also  was  a  litthe  at  a  loss 
to  know  how  she  was  to  carry  through  her  present  plan 
of  operations.  The  duty  of  beginning,  however,  was  clear- 
ly with  her,  and  therefore,  having  taken  Lucy  by  the  hand, 
she  spoke. 

"  Miss  Robarts,"  she  said,  "my  son  has  come  home.  I 
don't  know  whether  you  are  aware  of  it." 

She  sj^oke  with  a  low,  gentle  voice,  not  quite  like  herself, 
but  Lucy  was  much  too  confused  to  notice  this. 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  it,"  said  Lucy. 

She  had,  however,  been  so  informed  in  Fanny's  letter, 
but  all  that  had  gone  out  of  her  head. 

"  Yes,  he  has  come  back.  He  has  been  in  Norway,^^u 
know — fishing." 

"  Yes,"  said  Lucy. 

"I  am  sure  you  will  remember  all  that  took  place  when 
you  came  to  me,  not  long  ago,  in  my  little  room  up  stairs 
at  Framley  Court." 

In  answer  to  which,  Lucy,  quivering  in  every  nerve,  and 
wrongly  thinking  that  she  was  visibly  shaking  in  every 
limb,  timidly  answered  that  she  did  remember.  Why  was 
it  that  she  had  then  been  so  bold,  and  now  was  so  poor  a 
coward  ? 

"  Well,  my  dear,  all  that  I  said  to  you  then  I  said  to  you 
thinking  that  it  was  for  the  best.  You,  at  any  rate,  will 
not  be  angry  with  me  for  loving  my  own  son  better  than  I 
love  any  one  else." 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Lucy. 

"  He  is  the  best  of  sons,  and  the  best  of  men,  and  I  am 
sure  that  he  will  be  the  best  of  husbands." 

Lucy  had  an  idea,  by  instinct,  however,  rather  than  by 
sight,  that  Lady  Lufton's  eyes  were  full  of  tears  as  she 
spoke.  As  for  herself,  she  was  altogether  blinded,  and  did 
not  dare  to  lift  her  face  or  to  turn  her  head.  As  for  the 
utterance  of  any  sound,  that  was  quite  out  of  the  question. 

"And  now  I  have  come  here,  Lucy,  to  ask  you  to  be  his 
wife." 

She  was  quite  sure  that  she  heard  the  words.  They 
came  plainly  to  her  ears,  leaving  on  her  brain  their  proper 
sense,  but  yet  she  could  not  move  or  make  any  sign  that 
she  had  understood  them.  It  seemed  as  though  it  would 
be  ungenerous  in  her  to  take  advantage  of  such  conduct, 
and  to  accept  an  offer  made  with  so  much  self-sacrifice. 

Y 


506  FBAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

She  had  not  time  at  the  first  moment  to  think  even  of  his 
happiness,  let  alone  her  own,  but  she  thought  only  of  the 
magnitude  of  the  concession  which  had  been  made  to  her. 
When  she  had  constituted  Lady  Lufton  the  arbiter  of  her 
destiny,  she  had  regarded  the  question  of  her  love  as  deci- 
ded against  herself.  She  had  found  herself  unable  to  en- 
dure the  position  of  being  Lady  Lufton's  daughter-in-law 
while  Lady  Lufton  would  be  scorning  her,  and  therefore 
she  had  given  up  the  game.  She  had  given  up  the  game, 
sacrificing  herself,  and,  as  far  as  it  might  be  a  sacrifice,  sac- 
rificing him  also.  She  had  been  resolute  to  stand  to  her 
word  in  this  respect,  but  she  had  never  allowed  herself  to 
thiiit  it  possible  that  Lady  Lufton  should  comply  with  the 
conditions  which  she,  Lucy,  had  laid  upon  her.  And  yet 
such  was  the  case,  as  she  so  plainly  heard.  "  And  now  I 
have  come  here,  Lucy,  to  ask  you  to  be  his  wife." 

How  long  they  sat  together  silent  I  can  not  say ;  count- 
ed by  minutes,  the  time  would  not  probably  have  amount- 
ed to  many,  but  to  each  of  them  the  duration  seemed  con- 
siderable. Lady  Lufton,  while  she  was  speaking,  had  con- 
trived to  get  hold  of  Lucy's  hand,  and  she  sat,  still  holding 
it,  trying  to  look  into  Lucy's  face,  which,  however,  she 
could  hardly  see,  so  much  Avas  it  turned  away.  Neither, 
indeed,  Avere  Lady  Lufton's  eyes  perfectly  dry.  No  an- 
swer came  to  her  question,  and  therefore,  after  a  Avhile,  it 
w^as  necessary  that  she  should  speak  again. 

"  Must  I  go  back  to  him,  Lucy,  and  tell  him  that  there  is 
some  other  objection — something  besides  a  stern  old  moth- 
er— some  hinderance,  perhaps,  not  so  easily  overcome?" 

"  No,"  said  Lucy ;  and  it  was  all  which  at  the  moment 
she  could  say. 

"  What  shall  I  tell  him,  then  ?  Shall  I  say  yes— simply 
yes  ?" 

"  Simply  yes,"  said  Lucy. 

"  And  as  to  the  stern  old  mother,  who  thought  her  only 
son  too  precious  to  be  parted  with  at  the  first  word— is 
nothing  to  be  said  to  her?" 

"  Oh,  Lady  Lufton !" 
^ "  No  forgiveness  to  be  spoken,  no  sign  of  affection  to  be 
given  ?     Is  she  always  to  be  regarded  as  stern  and  cross, 
vexatious  and  disagreeable  ?" 

Lucy  slowly  turned  round  her  head,  and  looked  up  into 
her  companion's  face.     Though  she  had  as  yet  no  voice  to 


FRAMLEY    TAKSONAGE.  507 

speak  of  affection,  she  could  fill  her  eyes  with  love,  and  in 
that  way  make  to  her  future  mother  all  the  promises  that 
were  needed. 

"Lucy,  dearest  Lucy,  you  must  be  very  dear  to  mo 
now."  And  then  they  were  in  each  other's  arms,  kissing 
each  other. 

Lady  Lufton  now  desired  her  coachman  to  drive  up  and 
down  for  some  little  space  along  the  road,  while  she  com- 
pleted her  necessary  conversation  with  Lucy.  She  wanted 
at  first  to  carry  her  back  to  Framley  that  evening,  promis- 
ing to  send  her  again  to  Mrs.  Crawley  on  the  following 
morning — "  till  some  permanent  arrangement  could  be 
made,"  by  which  Lady  Lufton  intended  the  substitution 
of  a  regular  nurse  for  her  future  daughter-in-law,  seeing 
that  Lucy  Robarts  was  now  invested  in  her  eyes  with  at- 
tributes which  made  it  unbecoming  that  she  should  sit  in 
attendance  at  Mrs.  Crawley's  bedside.  But  Lucy  would 
not  go  back  to  Framley  on  that  evening — no,  nor  on  the 
next  morning.  She  would  be  so  glad  if  Fanny  would 
come  to  her  there,  and  then  she  Avould  arrange  about  go- 
ing home. 

"  But,  Lucy,  dear,  what  am  I  to  -say  to  Ludovic  ?  Per- 
haps you  would  feel  it  awkward  if  he  were  to  come  to  see 
you  here  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  Lady  Lufton  ;  pray  tell  him  not  to  do  that." 

"  And  is  that  all  that  I  am  to  tell  him  ?" 

"Tell  him — tell  him — He  won't  want  you  to  tell  him 
any  thing ;  only  I  should  like  to  be  quiet  for  a  day,  Lady 
Lufton." 

"  Well,  dearest,  you  shall  be  quiet ;  the  day  after  to-mor- 
row, then.  Mind,  we  must  not  spare  you  any  longer,  be- 
cause it  will  be  right  that  you  should  be  at  home  now.  He 
would  think  it  very  hard  if  you  were  to  be  so  near,  and  he 
was  not  to  be  allowed  to  look  at  you.  And  there  will  be 
some  one  else  who  will  want  to  see  you.  I  shall  want  to 
have  you  very  near  to  me,  for  I  shall  be  wretched,  Lucy, 
if  I  can  not  teach  you  to  love  me."  In  answer  to  which, 
Lucy  did  find  voice  enough  to  make  sundry  promises. 

And  then  she  was  put  out  of  the  carriage  at  the  little 
wicket  gate,  and  Lady  Lufton  was  driven  back  to  Fram- 
ley. I  wonder  whether  the  servant,  when  he  held  the  door 
for  Miss  Robarts,  was  conscious  that  he  Avas  waiting  on 
his  future  mistress  ?     I  fancy  that  he  was,  for  these  sort  of 


508  FEAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

people  always  know  every  thing,  and  the  peculiar  courtesy 
of  his  demeanor  as  he  let  down  the  carriage  steps  was  very 
observable. 

Lucy  felt  almost  beside  herself  as  she  returned  up  stairs, 
not  knowing  what  to  do,  or  how  to  look,  and  with  what 
words  to  speak.  It  behooved  her  to  go  at  once  to  Mrs. 
Crawley's  room,  and  yet  she  longed  to  be  alone.  She  knew 
that  she  was  quite  unable  either  to  conceal  her  thoughts 
or  express  them ;  nor  did  she  wish,  at  the  present  moment, 
to  talk  to  any  one  about  her  happiness,  seeing  that  she 
could  not,  at  the  present  moment,  talk  to  Fanny  Robarts. 
She  went,  however,  without  delay  into  Mrs.  Crawley's  room, 
and  with  that  little  eager  Avay  of  speaking  quickly  which 
is  so  common  with  people  who  know  that  they  are  con- 
fused, said  that  she  feared  she  had  been  a  very  long  time 
away. 

"  And  was  it  Lady  Lufton  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  was  Lady  Lufton." 

"  Why,  Lucy,  I  did  not  know  that  you  and  her  ladyshiji 
were  such  friends." 

"  She  had  something  particular  she  wanted  to  say,"  said 
Lucy,  avoiding  the  question,  and  avoiding  also  Mrs.  Craw- 
ley's eyes ;  and  then  she  sat  down  in  her  usual  chair. 

"  It  was  nothing  unpleasant,  I  hope  ?" 

"  No,  nothing  at  all  unpleasant — nothing  of  that  kind. 
Oh,  Mrs.  Crawley,  I'll  tell  you  some  other  time,  but  pray 
do  not  ask  me  now."  And  then  she  got  up  and  escaped, 
for  it  was  absolutely  necessary  that  she  should  be  alone. 

When  she  reached  her  own  room — that  in  which  the 
children  usually  slept — she  made  a  great  effort  to  compose 
herself,  but  not  altogether  successfully.  She  got  out  her 
paper  and  blotting-book,  intending,  as  she  said  to  herself, 
to  write  to  Fanny,  knowing,  however,  that  the  letter,  when 
written,  would  be  destroyed;  but  she  was  not  able  even 
to  form  a  word.  Her  hand  was  unsteady,  and  her  eyes 
were  dim,  and  her  thoughts  were  incapable  of  being  fixed. 
She  could  only  sit,  and  think,  and  wonder,  and  hope;  oc- 
casionally wiping  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  asking  her- 
self why  her  present  frame  of  mind  was  so  painful  to  her. 
During  the  last  two  or  three  months  she  had  felt  no  fear 
of  Lord  Lufton,  had  always  carried  herself  before  him  on 
.  equal  terms,  and  had  been  signally  capable  of  doing  so 
when  he  made  his  declaration  to  her  at  the  Parsonage ;  but 


FKAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  509 

now  she  looked  forward  with  an  undefined  dread  to  the 
first  moment  in  which  she  should  see  him. 

And  then  she  thought  of  a  certain  evening  she  had  passed 
at  Framley  Court,  and  acknowledged  to  herself  that  there 
was  some  pleasure  in  looking  back  to  that.  Griselda  Grant- 
ly  had  been  there,  and  all  the  constitutional  powers  of  the 
two  families  had  been  at  work  to  render  easy  a  process  of 
love-making  between  her  and  Lord  Lufton.  Lucy  had  seen 
and  understood  it  all,  without  knowing  that  she  understood 
it,  and  had,  in  a  certain  degree,  suffered  from  beholding  it. 
She  had  placed  herself  apart,  not  complaining — painfully 
conscious  of  some  inferiority,  but,  at  the  same  time,  almost 
boasting  to  herself  that  in  her  own  way  she  Avas  the  supe- 
rior. And  then  he  had  come  behind  her  chair,  whispering 
to  her,  speaking  to  her  his  first  words  of  kindness  and  good- 
nature, and  she  had  resolved  that  slie  would  be  his  friend 
— his  friend,  even  tliough  Griselda  Grantly  might  be  liis 
wife.  What  those  resolutions  were  Avorth  had  soon  be- 
come manifest  to  her.  She  had  soon  confessed  to  herself 
the  result  of  that  friendship,  and  had  determined  to  bear 
her  punishment  with  courage.     But  now — 

She  sat  so  for  about  an  hour,  and  would  fain  have  so  sat 
out  the  day.  But,  as  this  could  not  be,  she  got  up,  and, 
having  washed  her  face  and  eyes,  returned  to  Mrs.  Craw- 
ley's room.  There  she  found  Mr.  Crawley  also,  to  her  great 
joy,  for  she  knew  that  while  he  was  there  no  questions 
would  be  asked  of  her.  He  was  always  very  gentle  to  her, 
treating  her  with  an  old-fashioned  polished  respect — except 
when  compelled,  on  that  one  occasion,  by  his  sense  of  duty, 
to  accuse  her  of  mendacity  respecting  the  purveying  of 
victuals — but  he  had  never  become  absolutely  famihar  with 
lier,  as  his  wife  had  done ;  and  it  was  well  for  her  now  that 
he  had  not  done  so,  for  she  could  not  have  talked  about 
Lady  Lufton. 

Li  the  evening,  when  the  three  were  present,  she  did 
manage  to  say  that  she  expected  Mrs.  Robarts  would  come 
over  on  the  following  day. 

"  We  shall  part  with  you.  Miss  Robarts,  with  the  deep- 
est regret,"  said  Mr.  Crawley;  "but  we  would  not,  on  any 
account,  keep  you  longer.  Mrs.  Crawley  can  do  without 
you  now.  What  she  would  have  done  ha'd  you  not  come 
to  us,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  think." 

"I  did  not  say  tliat  I  should  go,"  said  Lucy. 


510  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

"But  you  will,"  said  Mrs.  Crawley.  "Yes,  dear,  you 
will.  I  know  that  it  is  proper  now  that  you  should  return. 
Nay,  but  we  will  not  have  you  any  longer.  And  the  poor 
dear  children,  too,  they  may  return.  How  am  I  to  thank 
Mrs.  Robarts  for  what  she  has  done  for  us  ?" 

It  was  settled  that  if  Mrs.  Robarts  came  on  the  following 
day  Lucy  should  go  back  with  her ;  and  then,  during  the 
long  watches  of  the  night — for  on  this  last  night  Lucy 
would  not  leave  the  bedside  of  her  new  friend  till  long 
after  the  dawn  had  broken — she  did  tell  Mrs.  Crawley  what 
Avas  to  be  her  destiny  in  life.  To  herself  there  seemed 
nothing  strange  in  her  new  position,  but  to  Mrs.  Crawley 
it  was  wonderful  that  she — she,  poor  as  she  was — should 
have  an  embryo  peeress  at  her  bedside,  handing  her  her 
cup  to  drink,  and  smoothing  her  pillow  that  she  might  be 
at  rest.  It  was  strange,  and  she  could  hardly  maintain  her 
accustomed  familiarity.     Lucy  felt  this  at  the  moment. 

"  It  must  make  no  difference,  you  know,"  said  she,  eag- 
erly— "none  at  all  between  you  and  me.  Promise  me 
that  it  shall  make  no  difference." 

The  promise  was  of  course  exacted,  but  it  was  not  pos- 
sible that  such  a  promise  should  be  kept. 

Very  early  on  the  following  morning — so  early  that  it 
woke  her  while  still  in  her  first  sleep — there  came  a  letter 
for  her  from  the  Parsonage.  Mrs.  Robarts  had  written  it 
after  her  return  home  from  Lady  Lufton's  dinner. 

The  letter  said : 

' '  My  own  own  Darling, — How  am  I  to  congratulate  you,  and  be 
eager  enough  in  wishing  you  joy  ?  I  do  wish  you  joy,  and  am  so  very 
happy.  I  write  now  chiefly  to  say  that  I  shall  be  over  with  you  about 
twelve  to-morrow,  and  that  I  must  bring  you  away  with  me.  If  I  did 
not,  some  one  else,  by  no  means  so  trustworthy,  would  insist  on  doing  it." 

But  this,  though  it  was  thus  stated  to  be  the  chief  part  of 
the  letter,  and  though  it  might  be  so  in  matter,  was  by  no 
means  so  in  space.  It  was  very  long,  for  Mrs.  Robarts  had 
sat  writing  it  till  past  midnight. 

"I  will  not  say  any  thing  about  him,"  she  went  on  to  say,  after  two 
pages  had  been  filled  with  his  name,  "but  I  must  tell  you  how  beauti- 
fully she  has  behaved.  You  will  own  that  she  >is  a  dear  woman,  will 
you  not?" 

Lucy  had  already  owned  it  many  times  since  the  visit  of 
yesterday,  and  had  declared  to  herself,  as  she  has  continued 
to  declare  ever  since,  that  she  had  never  doubted  it. 


FRAMLEY   PAESONAGE.  511 

"  She  took  us  by  surprise  when  we  got  into  the  drawing-room  before 
dinner,  and  she  told  us  first  of  all  that  she  had  been  to  sec  you  at  Hog- 
glestock.  Lord  Lufton,  of  course,  could  not  keep  the  secret,  but  brought 
it  out  instantly.  I  can't  tell  you  now  how  he  told  it  all,  but  I  am  sure 
you  will  believe  that  he  did  it  in  the  best  possible  manner.  He  took 
my  hand  and  pressed  it  half  a  dozen  times,  and  I  thought  he  was  going 
to  do  something  else;  but  he  did  not,  so  you  need  not  be  jealous.  And 
she  was  so  nice  to  Mark,  saying  such  things  in  praise  of  you,  and  pay- 
ing all  manner  of  compliments  to  your  father.  But  Lord  Lufton  scold- 
ed her  immensely  for  not  bringing  you.  He  said  it  was  lackadaisical 
and  nonsensical ;  but  I  could  see  how  much  he  loved  her  for  what  she 
had  done,  and  she  could  see  it  too,  for  I  know  her  ways,  and  know  that 
she  was  delighted  with  him.  She  could  not  keep  her  eyes  off  him  all 
the  evening,  and  certainly  I  never  did  see  him  look  so  well. 

"And  then,  while  Lord  Lufton  and  Mark  were  in  the  dining-room, 
where  they  remained  a  terribly  long  time,  she  would  make  me  go 
through  the  house,  that  she  might  show  me  your  rooms,  and  explain 
how  you  were  to  be  mistress  there.  She  has  got  it  all  arranged  to  per- 
fection, and  I  am  sure  she  has  been  thinking  about  it  for  years.  Her 
great  fear  at  present  is  that  you  and  he  should  go  and  live  at  Lufton. 
If  you  have  any  gratitude  in  you,  either  to  her  or  me,  you  will  not  let 
him  do  this.  I  consoled  her  by  saying  that  there  are  not  two  stones 
upon  one  another  at  Lufton  as  yet,  and  I  believe  such  is  the  case.  Be- 
sides, every  body  says  that  it  is  the  ugliest  spot  in  the  world.  She  went 
on  to  declare,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  that  if  yon  were  content  to  remain  at 
Framley,  she  would  never  interfere  in  any  thing.  I  do  think  that  she 
is  the  best  woman  that  ever  lived." 

So  much  as  I  have  given  of  this  letter  formed  but  a 
small  portion  of  it,  but  it  comprises  all  that  it  is  necessary 
that  we  should  know.  Exactly  at  twelve  o'clock  on  that 
day  Puck  the  pony  appeared,  with  Mrs.  Robarts  and  Grace 
Crawley  behind  him,  Grace  having  been  brought  back  as 
being  capable  of  some  service  in  the  house.  Nothing  that 
was  confidential,  and  very  little  that  was  loving,  could  be 
said  at  the  moment,  because  Mr.  Crawley  was  there,  wait- 
ing to  bid  Miss  Robarts  adieu ;  and  he  had  not  as  yet  been 
informed  of  what  was  to  be  the  future  fate  of  his  visitor. 
So  they  could  only  press  each  other's  hands  and  embrace, 
which  to  Lucy  was  almost  a  relief;  for  even  to  her  sister- 
in-law  she  hardly  as  yet  knew  bow  to  speak  openly  on  this 
subject. 

"  May  God  Almighty  bless  you.  Miss  Robarts,"  said  Mr. 
Crawley,  as  he  stQod  in  his  dingy  sitting-room  ready  to 
lead  her  out  to  the  pony  carriage.  "You  have  brought 
sunshine  into  this  house  even  in  the  time  of  sickness,  when 
there  was  no  sunshine ;  and  He  will  bless  you.  You  have 
been  the  good  Samaritan,  binding  up  the  wounds  of  the 


512  FRAMLEY    PAKSONAGE. 

afflicted,  pouring  in  oil  and  balm.  To  the  mother  of  my 
children  you  have  given  life,  and  to  me  you  have  brought 
light,  and  comfort,  and  good  words,  making  my  spirit  glad 
within  me,  as  it  had  not  been  gladdened  before.  All  this 
hath  come  of  charity,  which  vaunteth  not  itself  and  is  not 
puffed  up.  Faith  and  hope  are  great  and  beautiful,  but 
charity  exceedeth  them  all."  And,  having  so  spoken,  in- 
stead of  leading  her  out,  he  went  away  and  hid  himself. 

How  Puck  behaved  himself  as  Fanny  drove  him  back  to 
Framley,  and  how  those  two  ladies  in  the  carriage  behaved 
themselves — of  that,  perhaps,  nothing  farther  need  be  said. 


CHAPTER  XL VII. 

NEMESIS. 

But,  in  spite  of  all  these  joyful  tidings,  it  must,  alas !  be 
remembered  that  Poena,  that  just  but  Rhadamanthine  god- 
dess, whom  we  moderns  ordinarily  call  Punishment,  or 
IN'emesis  when  we  wish  to  speak  of  her  goddess-ship,  very 
seldom  fails  to  catch  a  wicked  man,  though  she  have  some- 
times a  lame  foot  of  her  own,  and  though  the  wicked  man 
may  possibly  get  a  start  of  her.  In  this  instance  the  wick- 
ed man  had  been  our  unfortunate  friend  Mark  Robarts — 
wicked  in  that  he  had  Avittingly  touched  pitch,  gone  to 
Gatherum  Castle,  ridden  fast  mares  across  the  counti-y  to 
Cobbold's  Ashes,  and  fallen  very  imprudently  among  the 
Tozers ;  and  the  instrument  used  by  Nemesis  was  Mr.  Tom 
Towers,  of  the  Jupiter^  than  whom,  in  these  our  days,  there 
is  no  deadlier  scourge  in  the  hands  of  that  goddess. 

In  the  first  instance,  however,  I  must  mention,  though  I 
will  not  relate,  a  little  conversation  which  took  place  be- 
tween Lady  Lufton  and  Mr.  Robart-s.  That  gentleman 
thought  it  right  to  say  a  few  words  more  to  her  ladyship 
respecting  those  money  transactions.  He  could  not  but 
feel,  he  said,  that  he  had  received  that  prebendal  stall  from 
the  hands  of  Mr.  Sowerby,  and,  under  such  circumstances, 
considering  all  that  had  happened,  he  could  not  be  easy  in 
his  mind  as  long  as  he  held  it.  What  he  was  about  to  do 
would,  he  was  aware,  delay  considerably  his  final  settle- 
ment with  Lord  Lufton  ;  but  Lufton,  he  hoped,  would  par- 
don that,  and  agree  Avith  him  as  to  the  propriety  of  what 
he  was  about  to  do. 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  513 

Oil  the  first  blush  of  the  thing,  Lady  Lufton  did  not 
quite  go  along  with  him.  Now  that  Lord  Lufton  was  to 
marry  the  parson's  sister,  it  might  be  well  that  the  parson 
should  be  a  dignitary  of  the  Church  ;  and  it  might  be  well, 
also,  that  one  so  nearly  connected  with  her  son  should  be 
comfortable  in  his  money-matters.  There  loomed,  also,  in 
the  future,  some  distant  possibility  of  higher  clerical  hon- 
ors for  a  peer's  brother-in-law,  and  the  top  rung  of  the  lad- 
der is  always  more  easily  attained  when  a  man  has  already 
ascended  a  step  or  two.  But,  nevertheless,  when  the  mat- 
ter came  to  be  fully  explained  to  her,  Avhen  she  saw  clearly 
the  circumstances  under  which  the  stall  had  been  confer- 
red, she  did  agree  that  it  had  better  be  given  up. 

And  well  for  both  of  them  it  was — well  for  them  all  at 
Framley — that  this  conclusion  had  been  reached  before  the 
scourge  of  Nemesis  had  fallen.  Nemesis,  of  course,  de- 
clared that  her  scourge  had  j^roduced  the  resignation  ;  but 
it  was  generally  understood  that  this  was  a  false  boast,  for 
all  clerical  men  at  Barchester  knew  that  the  stall  had  been 
restored  to  the  chapter,  or,  in  other  words,  into  the  hands 
of  the  government,  before  Tom  Towers  had  twirled  the 
fatal  lash  above  his  head.  But  the  manner  of  the  twirling 
was  as  follows : 

"It  is  witli  difficulty  enough,"  said  the  article  in  the  Jupiter,  "  that 
the  Church  of  England  maintains  at  the  present  moment  that  ascend- 
ency among  the  religious  sects  of  this  country  which  it  so  loudly  claims. 
And  perhaps  it  is  rather  from  an  old-fashioned  and  time-honored  aifec- 
tion  for  its  standing  than  from  any  intrinsic  merits  of  its  own  that  some 
such  general  acknowledgment  of  its  ascendency  is  still  allowed  to  pre- 
vail. If,  however,  the  patrons  and  clerical  members  of  this  Churcli  are 
bold  enough  to  disregard  all  general  rules  of  decent  behavior,  we  think 
we  may  predict  that  this  chivalrous  feeling  will  be  found  to  give  way. 
From  time  to  time  we  hear  of  instances  of  such  imprudence,  and  arc 
made  to  wonder  at  the  folly  of  those  who  are  supposed  to  hold  the  State 
Church  in  the  greatest  reverence. 

"  Among  those  positions  of  dignified  ease  to  which  fortunate  clergy- 
men may  be  promoted  are  the  stalls  of  the  canons  or  prebendaries  in  our 
cathedrals.  Some  of  these,  as  is  well  known,  carry  little  or  no  emolu- 
ment with  them,  but  some  are  rich  in  the  good  things  of  this  world. 
Excellent  family  houses  are  attached  to  them,  with  we  hardly  know  what 
domestic  privileges,  and  clerical  incomes,  moreover,  of  an  amount  which, 
if  divided,  would  make  glad  the  hearts  of  many  a  hard-working  clerical 
slave.  Reform  has  been  busy  even  among  these  stalls,  attaching  some 
amount  of  work  to  the  pay,  and  paring  oft"  some  superfluous  wealth  from 
such  of  them  as  were  over  full ;  but  reform  has  been  lenient  with  tlicm, 
acknowledging  that  it  was  well  to  have  some  such  places  of  comfortable 
and  dignified  retiromont  for  those  who  have  worn  themselves  out  in  th3 

Y2 


514  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

hard  voik  of  their  profession.  There  has  of  hite  prevailed  a  taste  for 
the  appointment  of  young  bishops,  produced,  no  doubt,  by  a  feeling  that 
bishojjs  should  be  men  fitted  to  get  through  really  hard  work  ;  but  we 
have  never  heard  that  young  prebendaries  were  considered  desirable. 
A  clergyman  selected  for  such  a  position  should,  we  have  always  thought, 
have  earned  an  evening  of  ease  by  a  long  day  of  work,  and  should, 
above  all  things,  be  one  Avhose  life  has  been,  and  therefore,  in  human 
probability,  will  be,  so  decorous  as  to  be  honorable  to  the  cathedral  of 
liis  adoption. 

"We  were,  however,  the  other  day  given  to  understand  that  one  of 
these  luxin-ious  benefices,  belonging  to  the  cathedral  of  Barchcster,  had 
been  bestowed  on  the  Kev.  Mark  Eobarts,  the  vicar  of  a  neighboring 
])arish,  on  the  understanding  that  he  should  hold  the  living  and  the  stall 
together ;  and,  on  making  farther  inquiry,  we  were  surprised  to  learn 
that  this  fortunate  gentleman  is  as  yet  considerably  under  thirty  years 
of  age.  We  were  desirous,  however,  of  believing  that  his  learning,  his 
I)iety,  and  his  conduct  might  be  of  a  nature  to  add  peculiar  grace  to  his 
chapter,  and  therefore,  though  almost  unwillingly,  we  were  silent.  But 
now  it  has  come  to  our  ears,  and,  indeetl,  to  the  ears  of  all  the  world, 
that  this  piety  and  conduct  arc  sadly  wanting ;  and,  judging  of  Mr.  Ro- 
barts  by  his  life  and  associates,  we  are  inclined  to  doubt  even  the  learn- 
ing. He  has  at  this  moment,  or,  at  any  rate,  had  but  a  few  days  since, 
an  execution  in  his  parsonage  house  at  Framley,  on  the  suit  of  certain 
most  disreputable  bill-discounters  in  London,  and  probably  would  have 
another  execution  in  his  other  house  in  Barchester  Close  but  for  the  fact 
that  he  has  never  thought  it  necessary  to  go  into  residence." 

Then  followed  some  very  stringent,  and,  no  doubt,  much- 
needed  advice  to  those  clerical  menil)ers  of  the  Church  of 
England  who  are  supposed  to  be  mainly  responsible  for 
the  conduct  of  their  brethren ;  and  the  article  ended  as 
follows : 

"  Many  of  these  stalls  are  in  the  gift  of  the  respective  deans  and  chap- 
ters, and  in  such  cases  the  dean  and  chapters  are  bound  to  see  that 
proper  persons  are  appointed ;  but  in  other  instances  the  power  of  selec- 
tion is  vested  in  the  crown,  and  then  an  equal  responsibility  rests  on  the 
government  of  the  day.  Mr.  Robarts,  we  learn,  was  appointed  to  the 
stall  of  Barchester  by  the  late  prime  minister,  and  we  really  think  that 
a  grave  censvire  rests  on  him  for  the  manner  in  which  his  patronage  has 
been  exercised.  It  may  be  impossible  that  he  should  himself,  in  all  such 
cases,  satisfy  himself  by  personal  inquiry.  But  our  government  is  alto- 
gether conducted  on  the  footing  of  vicarial  responsibility.  Quod  fadt 
per  alium,  facit  per  se,  is  in  a  special  manner  true  of  our  ministers,  and 
any  man  who  rises  to  high  position  among  them  must  abide  by  the  dan- 
ger thereby  incurred.  In  this  peculiar  case  we  arc  informed  that  the 
recommendation  was  made  by  a  very  recently  admitted  member  of  the 
cabinet,  to  whose  appointment  we  alluded  at  the  time  as  a  great  mis- 
take. The  gentleman  in  question  held  no  high  individual  office  of  his 
own ;  but  evil  such  as  this  which  has  now  been  done  at  Barchester  is 
exactly  the  sort  of  mischief  which  follows  the  exaltation  of  unfit  men  to 
high  positions,  even  though  no  great  scope  for  executive  failure  may  be 
placed  within  their  reach. 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  515 

"If  Mr.  Robarts  will  allow  ns  to  tendei'  to  him  om*  advice,  he  will 
lose  110  lime  in  going;  through  such  ceremony  as  may  be  necessary  again 
to  place  the  stall  at  the  disposal  of  the  crown !" 

I  may  here  observe  that  poor  Harold  Smith,  wlieii  he 
read  this,  writhing  in  agony,  declared  it  to  be  the  handi- 
work of  his  hated  enemy,  Mr.  Supplehouse.  He  knew  the 
mark ;  so,  at  least,  he  said ;  but  I  myself  am  inclined  to 
believe  that  his  animosity  misled  him.  I  think  that  one 
greater  than  Mr.  Supplehouse  had  taken  upon  himself  the 
punishment  of  our  poor  vicar. 

This  was  very  dreadful  to  them  all  at  Framley,  and, 
when  first  read,  seemed  to  crush  them  to  atoms.  Poor 
Mrs.  Robarts,  when  she  heard  it,  seemed  to  think  that  for 
them  the  world  was  over.  An  attempt  had  been  made  to 
keep  it  from  her,  but  such  attempts  always  fail,  as  did  this. 
The  article  was  copied  into  all  the  good-natured  local  news- 
papers, and  she  soon  discovered  that  something  was  being 
hidden.  At  last  it  was  shown  to  her  by  her  husband,  and 
then  for  a  few  hours  she  was  annihilated ;  for  a  few  days 
she  was  unwilling  to  show  herself;  and  for  a  few, weeks 
she  was  very  sad.  But  after  that  the  Avorld  seemed  to  go 
on  much  as  it  had  done  before ;  the  sun  shone  upon  them 
as  warmly  as  though  the  article  had  not  been  written; 
and  not  only  the  sun  of  heaven,  which,  as  a  rule,  is  not 
limited  in  his  shining  by  any  display  of  pagan  thunder,  but 
also  the  genial  sun  of  their  own  sphere,  the  w^armth  and 
light  of  which  were  so  essentially  necessary  to  their  happi- 
ness. Neighboring  rectors  did  not  look  glum,  nor  did  the 
rectors'  wives  refuse  to  call.  The  people  in  the  shops  at 
Barchester  did  not  regard  her  as  though  she  were  a  dis- 
graced woman,  though  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  Mrs. 
Proudie  passed  her  in  the  Close  with  the  coldest  nod  of 
recognition. 

On  Mrs.  Proudie's  mind  alone  did  the  article  seem  to 
have  any  enduring  effect.  In  one  respect  it  was,  perhaps, 
beneficial ;  Lady  Lufton  was  at  once  induced  by  it  to  make 
common  cause  with  her  own  clergyman,  and  thus  the  re- 
membrance of  Mr.  Robarts'  sins  passed  away  the  quicker 
from  the  minds  of  the  whole  Framley  Court  household. 

And,  indeed,  the  county  at  large  was  not  able  to  give  to 
the  matter  that  undivided  attention  which  would  have  been 
considered  its  due  at  periods  of  no  more  than  ordinary  in- 
terest.    At  the  present  moment  preparations  were  being 


516  FRAMLEY  PARSONAGE. 

made  for  a  general  election,  and,  although  no  contest  was 
to  take  place  in  the  eastern  division,  a  very  violent  fight 
was  being  carried  on  in  the  west ;  and  the  circumstances 
of  that  fight  were  so  exciting  that  Mr.  Robarts  and  his  ar- 
ticle were  forgotten  before  their  time.  An  edict  had  gone 
forth  from  Gatherum  Castle  directing  that  Mr.  Sowerby 
should  be  turned  out,  and  an  answering  note  of  defiance 
had  been  sounded  from  Chaldicotes,  protesting,  on  behalf  of 
Mr.  Sowerby,  that  the  duke's  behests  would  not  be  obeyed. 

There  are  two  classes  of  persons  in  this  realm  who  are 
constitutionally  inefficient  to  take  any  part  in  returning 
members  to  Parliament — peers,  namely,  and  women  ;  and 
yet  it  was  soon  known  through  the  whole  length  and 
breadth  of  the  county  that  the  present  electioneering  fight 
was  being  carried  on  between  a  peer  and  a  woman.  Miss 
Dunstable  had  been  declared  the  purchaser  of  the  Chase 
of  Chaldicotes,  as  it  were  just  in  the  very  nick  of  time; 
which  purchase — so  men  in  Barsetshire  declared,  not  know- 
ing any  thing  of  the  fiicts — would  have  gone  altogether  tlie 
other  way,  had  not  the  giants  obtained  temporary  suprem- 
acy over  the  gods.  The  duke  was  a  supporter  of  the  gods, 
and  therefore,  so  Mr.  Fothergiil  hinted,  his  money  had  been 
refused.  Miss  Dunstable  was  prepared  to  beard  this  ducal 
friend  of  the  gods  in  his  own  county,  and  therefore  her 
money  had  been  taken.  I  am  inclined,  however,  to  think 
that  Mr.  Fothergiil  knew  nothing  about  it,  and  to  opine 
that  Miss  Dunstable,  in  her  eagerness  for  victory,  oftered 
to  the  crown  more  money  than  the  property  was  worth  in 
the  duke's  opinion,  and  that  the  crown  took  advantage  of 
her  anxiety,  to  the  manifest  profit  of  the  public  at  large. 

And  it  soon  became  known,  also,  that  Miss  Dunstable 
was,  in  fiict,  the  proprietor  of  the  whole  Chaldicotes  estate, 
and  that  in  promoting  the  success  of  Mr.  Sowerby  as  a 
candidate  for  the  county  she  was  standing  by  her  own 
tenant.  It  also  became  known,  in  the  course  of  the  battle, 
that  Miss  Dunstable  had  herself  at  last  succumbed,  and 
that  she  was  about  to  marr}^  Dr.  Thorne  of  Greshamsbury, 
or  the  "  Greshamsbury  apothecary,"  as  the  adverse  party 
now  delighted  to  call  him.  "He  has  been  little  better 
than  a  quack  all  his  life,"  said  Dr.  Fillgrave,  the  eminent 
physician  of  Barchester,  "  and  now^  he  is  going  to  marry  a 
quack's  daughter."  By  which,  and  the  like  to  which,  Dr. 
Thorne  did  not  allow  himself  to  be  much  annoved. 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  517 

But  all  this  gave  rise  to  a  very  pretty  series  of  squibs 
arranged  between  Mr.  Fothergill  and  Mr.  Closerstil,  the 
electioneering  agent.  Mr.  Sowerby  was  named  "  the  lady's 
pet,"  and  descriptions  were  given  of  the  lady  who  kept 
this  pet  which  were  by  no  means  flattering  to  Miss  Dun- 
stable's appearance,  or  manners,  or  age.  And  then  the 
western  division  of  the  county  was  asked  in  a  grave  tone 
— as  counties  and  boroughs  are  asked  by  means  of  adver- 
tisements stuck  up  on  blind  walls  and  barn  doors — whether 
it  was  fitting  and  proper  that  it  should  be  represented  by 
a  woman.  Upon  wliich  the  county  was  again  asked  wheth- 
er it  was  fitting  and  proper  that  it  should  be  represented 
by  a  duke.  And  then  the  question  became  more  personal 
as  against  Miss  Dunstable,  and  inquiry  was  urged  whether 
the  county  would  not  be  indelibly  disgraced  if  it  were  not 
only  handed  over  to  a  woman,  but  handed  over  to  a  woman 
who  sold  the  oil  of  Lebanon.  But  little  was  got  by  this 
move,  for  an  answering  placard  explained  to  the  unfortu- 
nate county  how  deep  would  be  its  shame  if  it  allowed  it- 
self to  become  the  appanage  of  any  peer,  but  more  espe- 
cially of  a  peer  who  was  known  to  be  the  most  immoral 
lord  that  (^ver  disgraced  the  benches  of  the  Upper  House. 

And  so  the  battle  went  on  very  prettily,  and,  as  money 
Avas  allowed  to  flow  freely,  the  West  Barsetshire  world  at 
large  was  not  ill  satisfied.  It  is  wonderful  how  much  dis- 
grace of  that  kind  a  borough  or  county  can  endure  without 
flinching;  and  wonderful  also,  seeing  how  supreme  is  the 
value  attached  to  the  Constitution  by  the  realm  at  large, 
how  very  little  the  principles  of  that  Constitution  are  val- 
ued by  the  people  in  detail.  The  duke,  of  course,  did  not 
show  himself.  He  rarely  did  on  any  occasion,  and  never 
on  such  occasions  as  this ;  but  Mr,  Fothergill  was  to  be 
seen  every  where.  Miss  Dunstable,  also,  did  not  hide  her 
light  under  a  bushel ;  though  I  here  declare,  on  the  faith 
of  a  historian,  that  the  rumor  spread  abroad  of  her  having 
made  a  speech  to  the  electors  from  the  top  of  the  porch 
over  the  hotel  door  at  Courcy  was  not  founded  on  fact. 
No  doubt  she  was  at  Courcy,  and  her  carriage  stopped  at 
the  hotel ;  but  neither  there  nor  elsewhere  did  she  make 
any  pubhc  exhibition.  "They  must  have  mistaken  me  for 
Mrs.  Proudie,"  she  said,  when  the  rumor  reached  her  ears. 

But  there  was,  alas  !  one  great  element  of  failure  on  Miss 
Diuistnblc's  side  of  the  battle.     Mr.  Sowerbv  himself  could 


519  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

not  be  induced  to  fight  it  as  became  a  man.  Any  positive 
injunctions  that  were  laid  upon  him  he  did  in  a  sort  obey. 
It  had  been  a  part  of  the  bargain  that  he  should  stand  the 
contest,  and  from  that  bargain  he  could  not  well  go  back ; 
but  he  had  not  the  spirit  left  to  him  for  any  true  fighting 
on  his  own  part.  He  could  not  go  up  on  the  hustings,  and 
there  defy  the  duke.  Early  in  the  aifair  Mr.  Fothergill 
challenged  him  to  do  so,  and  Mr.  Sowerby  never  took  up 
the  gauntlet. 

"  We  have  heard,"  said  Mr.  Fothergill,  in  that  great 
speech  which  he  made  at  the  Omnium  Arms  at  Silver- 
bridge — "  we  have  heard  much  during  this  election  of  the 
Duke  of  Omnium,  and  of  the  injuries  which  he  is  supposed 
to  have  inflicted  on  one  of  the  candidates.  The  duke's 
name  is  very  frequent  in  the  mouths  of  the  gentlemen — 
and  of  the  lady — who  support  Mr.  Sowerby's  claims.  But 
I  do  not  think  that  Mr.  Sowerby  himself  has  dared  to  say 
much  about  the  duke.  I  defy  Mr.  Sowerby  to  mention  the 
duke's  name  upon  the  hustings." 

And  it  so  hapj)ened  that  Mr.  Sowerby  never  did  mention 
the  duke's  name. 

It  is  ill  fighting  when  the  spirit  is  gone,  and  Mr.  Sower- 
by's spirit  for  such  things  was  now  well-nigh  broken.  It 
is  true  that  he  had  escaped  from  the  net  in  which  the  duke, 
by  Mr.  Fothergill's  aid,  had  entangled  him,  but  he  had  only 
broken  out  of  one  captivity  into  another.  Money  is  a  seri- 
ous thing,  and,  when  gone,  can  not  be  had  back  by  a  shuffle 
in  the  game,  or  a  fortunate  blow  with  the  battledoor,  as 
may  political  power,  or  reputation,  or  fashion.  One  hund- 
red thousand  pounds  gone  must  remain  as  gone,  let  the 
person  who  claims  to  have  had  the  honor  of  advancing  it  be 
Mrs.  B.  or  my  Lord  C.  No  lucky  dodge  can  erase  such  a 
claim  from  the  things  that'  be,  unless,  indeed,  such  dodge 
be  possible  as  Mr.  Sowerby  tried  with  Miss  Dunstable. 
It  was  better  for  him,  undoubtedly,  to  have  the  lady  for  a 
creditor  than  the  duke,  seeing  that  it  was  possible  for  him 
to  live  as  a  tenant  in  his  own  old  house  under  the  lady's 
reign.  But  this  he  found  to  be  a  sad  enough  life,  after  all 
that  was  come  and  gone. 

The  election  on  Miss  Dunstable's  part  was  lost.  She 
carried  on  the  contest  nobly,  fighting  it  to  the  last  moment, 
and  sparing  neither  her  own  money  nor  that  of  her  antag- 
onist ;  but  she  carried  it  on  unsuccessfully.     Many  gentle- 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  519 

men  did  support  Mr.  Sowerby  because  they  were  willing 
enough  to  emancipate  their  county  from  the  duke's  thral- 
dom ;  but  Mr.  Sowerby  was  felt  to  be  a  black  sheep,  as 
Lady  Lufton  had  called  him,  and  at  the  close  of  the  elec- 
tion he  found  himself  banished  from  the  representation  of 
West  Barchester — banished  forever,  after  having  held  the 
county  for  five-and-twenty  years. 

Unfortunate  Mr.  Sowerby !  I  can  not  take  leave  of  him 
here  without  some  feeling  of  regret,  knowing  that  there 
was  that  within  him  which  might,  under  better  guidance, 
have  produced  better  things.  There  are  men,  even  of  high 
birth,  who  seem  as  though  they  Avere  born  to  be  rogues ; 
but  Mr.  Sowerby  was,  to  my  thinking,  born  to  be  a  gen- 
tleman. That  he  had  not  been  a  gentleman — that  he  had 
bolted  from  his  appointed  course,  going  terribly  on  tho 
wrong  side  of  the  posts — let  us  all  acknowledge.  It  is  not 
a  gentleman-like  deed,  but  a  very  blackguard  action,  to  ob- 
tain a  friend's  acceptance  to  a  bill  in  an  unguarded  hour 
of  social  intercourse.  That  and  other  similar  doings  have 
stamped  his  character  too  plainly.  But,  nevertheless,  I 
claim  a  tear  for  Mr.  Sowerby,  and  lament  that  he  has  failed 
to  run  his  race  discreetly,  in  accordance  with  the  rules  of 
the  Jockey  Club. 

He  attempted  that  plan  of  living  as  a  tenant  in  his  old 
house  at  Chaldicotes,  and  of  making  a  living  out  of  the 
land  which  he  farmed;  but  he  soon  abandoned  it.  Ho 
had  no  aptitude  for  such  industry,  and  could  not  endure 
his  altered  position  in  the  county.  Ho  soon  relinquished 
Chaldicotes  of  his  own  accord,  and  has  vanished  away,  as 
such  men  do  vanish — not  altogether  without  necessary  in- 
come ;  to  which  point  in  the  final  arrangement  of  their 
joint  affairs  Mrs.  Thome's  man  of  business — if  I  may  be 
allowed  so  far  to  anticipate — paid  special  attention. 

And  thus  Lord  Dumbello,  the  duke's  nominee,  got  in,  as 
the  duke's  nominee  had  done  for  very  many  years  past. 
There  was  no  Nemesis  here — none  as  yet.  Nevertheless, 
she  with  the  lame  foot  will  assuredly  catch  him,  the  duke, 
if  it  be  that  he  deserve  to  be  caught.  With  us  his  grace's 
appearance  has  been  so  unfrequent  that  I  think  Ave  may 
omit  to  make  any  farther  inquiry  as  to  his  concerns. 

One  point,  however,  is  Avorthy  of  notice,  as  showing  the 
good  sense  with  Avhich  Ave  manage  our  affairs  here  in  En- 
gland.    In  an  early  portion  of  this  story  the  reader  Avas 


520  FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

introduced  to  the  interior  of  Gatherum  Castle,  and  there 
saw  Miss  Dunstable  entertained  by  the  duke  in  the  most 
friendly  manner.  Since  those  days  the  lady  has  become 
the  duke's  neighbor,  and  has  waged  a  war  with  liim  which 
he  probably  felt  to  be  very  vexatious.  But,  nevertheless, 
on  the  next  great  occasion  at  Gatherum  Castle,  Doctor  and 
JVIi's.  Thorne  were  among  the  visitors,  and  to  no  one  was 
the  duke  more  personally  courteous  than  to  his  opulent 
neighbor,  the  late  Miss  Dunstable. 


CHAPTER  XL VIII. 

HOW   THEY   WERE   ALL   MARRIED,  HAD  TWO   CHILDREN,  AND 
LIVED  HAPPY  EVER  AFTER. 

Dear,  affectionate,  sympathetic  readers,  we  have  four 
couple  of  sighing  lovers  with  whom  to  deal  in  this  our  last 
chapter,  and  I,  as  leader  of  the  chorus,  disdain  to  press  you 
farther  with  doubts  as  to  the  happiness  of  any  of  that 
quadrille.  They  were  all  made  happy,  in  spite  of  that  lit- 
tle episode  which  so  lately  took  place  at  Barchester ;  and 
in  telling  of  their  happiness — shortly,  as  is  now  necessary 
— we  will  take  them  chronologically,  giving  precedence  to 
those  w^ho  first  appeared  at  the  hymeneal  altar. 

In  July,  then,  at  the  cathedral,  by  the  father  of  the  bride, 
assisted  by  his  examining  chaplain,  Olivia  Proudie,  the  eld- 
est daughter  of  the  Bishop  of  Barchester,  was  joined  in  mar- 
riage to  the  Rev.  Tobias  Tickler,  incumbent  of  the  Trinity 
district  church  in  Bethnal  Green.  Of  the  bridegroom,  in 
this  instance,  our  acquaintance  has  been  so  short,  that  it  is 
not,  perhaps,  necessary  to  say  much.  When  coming  to  the 
wedding  he  proposed  to  bring  his  three  darling  children 
with  him ;  but  in  this  measure  he  was,  I  think  prudently, 
stopped  by  advice,  rather  strongly  worded,  from  his  future 
valued  mother-in-law.  IVIr.  Tickler  was  not  an  opulent  man, 
nor  had  he  hitherto  attained  any  great  fame  in  his  profes- 
sion ;  but,  at  the  age  of  forty-three,  he  still  had  sufficient 
opportunity  before  him,  and,  now  that  his  merit  has  been 
properly  viewed  by  high  ecclesiastical  eyes,  the  refreshing 
dew  of  deserved  promotion  will  no  doubt  fall  upon  him. 
The  marriage  was  very  smart,  and  Olivia  carried  herself 
through  the  trying  ordeal  with  an  excellent  propriety  of. 
conduct. 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  521 

JJp  to  that  time,  and  even  for  a  few  days  longer,  there 
was  doubt  at  Barchester  as  to  that  strange  journey  which 
Lord  Dumbelio  undoubtedly  did  take  to  France.  When 
a  man  so  circumstanced  will  suddenly  go  to  Paris,  without 
notice  given  even  to  his  future  bride,  jDCople  must  doubt ; 
and  grave  were  the  ai)prehensions  expressed  on  this  occa- 
sion by  Mrs.  Proudie,  even  at  her  child's  wedding-break- 
fast. "  God  bless  you,  my  dear  children,"  she  said,  stand- 
ing up  at  the  head  of  her  table  as  she  addressed  Mr.  Tick- 
ler and  his  wife ;  "  when  I  see  your  perfect  happiness — 
perfect,  that  is,  as  far  as  human  happiness  can  be  made 
perfect  in  this  vale  of  tears — and  think  of  the  terrible  ca- 
lamity Avhich  has  fallen  on  our  unfortunate  neighbors,  I  can 
not  but  acknowledge  His  infinite  mercy  and  goodness. 
The  Lord  giveth,  and  the  Lord  taketh  away."  By  which 
she  intended,  no  doubt,  to  signify  that  whereas  Mr.  Tickler 
had  been  given  to  her  Olivia,  Lord  Dumbelio  had  been 
taken  away  from  the  archdeacon's  Griselda.  The  happy 
couple  then  went  in  Mrs.  Proudie's  carriage  to  the  nearest 
railway  station  but  one,  and  from  thence  proceeded  to  Mal- 
vern, and  there  spent  the  honeymoon. 

And  a  great  comfort  it  was,  I  am  sure,  to  Mrs.  Proudis 
when  authenticated  tidings  reached  Barchester  that  Loid 
Dumbelio  had  returned  from  Paris,  and  that  the  Hartletop- 
Grantly  alliance  was  to  be  carried  to  its  completion.  She 
still,  however,  held  her  opinion — whether  correctly  or  not, 
Avho  shall  say? — that  the  young  lord  had  intended  to  es-. 
cape.  "The  archdeacon  has  shown  great  firmness  in  the 
Avay  in  which  he  has  done  it,"  said  Mrs.  Proudie ;  "  but 
whether  he  has  consulted  his  child's  best  interests  in  forcing 
her  into  a  marriage  with  an  unwilling  husband,  I,  for  one, 
must  take  leave  to  doubt.  But  then,  unfortunately,  we  all 
know  how  completely  the  archdeacon  is  devoted  to  world- 
ly matters." 

In  this  instance  the  archdeacon's  devotion  to  worldly 
matters  was  rewarded  by  that  success  which  he  no  doubt 
desired.  He  did  go  up  to  London,  and  did  see  one  or  two 
of  Lord  Dumbello's  friends.  This  he  did,  not  obtrusively, 
as  though  in  fear  of  any  falsehood  or  vacillation  on  the  part 
of  the  viscount,  but  with  that  discretion  and  tact  for  which 
he  has  been  so  long  noted.  Mrs.  Proudie  declares  that 
during  the  few  days  of  his  absence  from  Barsetshire  he 
liimself  crossed  to  France  and  hunted  down  Lord  Dumbelio 


b22  FRAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

Jit  Paris.  As  to  this  I  am  not  prepared  to  say  any  thinG^; 
but  I  am  quite  sure,  as  will  be  all  those  who  knew  the 
archdeacon,  that  he  was  not  a  man  to  see  his  daughter 
wronged  as  long  as  any  measure  remained  by  which  such 
wrong  might  be  avoided. 

But,  be  that  as  it  may — that  mooted  question  as  to  the 
archdeacon's  journey  to  Paris — Lord  Dumbello  w^as  forth- 
coming at  Plumstead  on  the  5th  of  August,  and  went 
through  his  work  like  a  man.  The  Hartletop  family,  when 
the  alliance  was  found  to  be  unavoidable,  endeavored  to  ar- 
range that  the  wedding  should  be  held  at  Hartletop  Priory, 
in  order  that  the  clerical  dust  and  dinginess  of  Barchester 
Close  might  not  soil  the  splendor  of  the  marriage  gala  do- 
ings; for,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  Hartletopians,  as  a  rule, 
were  not  proud  of  their  new  clerical  connections.  But  on 
this  subject  Mrs.  Grantly  was  very  properly  inexorable; 
nor,  when  an  attempt  was  made  on  the  bride  to  induce  her 
to  throw  over  her  mamma  at  the  last  moment,  and  pro- 
nounce for  herself  that  she  would  be  married  at  the  Priory, 
was  it  attended  with  any  success.  The  Hartletopians  knew 
nothing  of  the  Grantly  fibre  and  calibre,  or  they  would 
have  made  no  such  attempt.  The  marriage  took  place  at 
Plumstead,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  day  Lord  Dumbello 
posted  over  from  Barchester  to  the  Rectory.  The  cere- 
mony was  performed  by  the  archdeacon  without  assistance, 
although  the  dean,  and  the  precentor,  and  two  other  clergy- 
men wxre  at  the  ceremony.  Griselda's  propriety  of  con- 
duct Avas  quite  equal  to  that  of  Olivia  Proudie;  indeed, 
nothing  could  exceed  the  statuesque  grace  and  fine  aristo- 
cratic bearing  with  which  she  carried  herself  on  the  occa- 
sion. The  three  or  four  words  which  the  service  required 
of  her  she  said  with  ease  and  dignity ;  there  was  neither 
sobbing  nor  crying  to  disturb  the  work  or  embarrass  her 
friends,  and  she  signed  her  name  in  the  Church  books  as 
"  Griselda  Grantly"  without  a  tremor — and  without  a  re- 
gret. 

Mrs.  Grantly  kissed  her  and  blessed  her  in  the  hall  as  she 
was  about  to  step  forward  to  her  traveling  carriage,  lean- 
ing  on  her  father's  arm,  and  the  child  put  up  her  face  to 
her  mother  for  a  last  whisper.  "Mamma,"  she  said,  "I 
suppose  Jane  can  put  her  hand  at  once  on  the  moire  antique 
when  we  reach  Dover  ?"  Mrs.  Grantly  smiled  and  nodded, 
and  again  blessed  her  child.     There  w-as  not  a  tear  slied  •- 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  523 

at  least  not  then — nor  a,  sign  of  sorrow  to  cloud  for  a  mo- 
ment the  gay  splendor  of  the  day.  But  the  mother  did 
bethink  herself,  in  the  solitude  of  her  own  room,  of  those 
last  words,  and  did  acknowledge  a  lack  of  something  for 
which  her  heart  had  sighed.  She  had  boasted  to  her  sister 
that  she  had  nothing  to  regret  as  to  her  daughter's  educa- 
tion ;  but  now,  when  she  was  alone  after  her  success,  did 
she  feel  that  she  could  still  support  herself  with  that  boast  ? 
For,  be  it  known,  Mrs.  Grantly  had  a  heart  within  her 
bosom  and  a  faith  within  her  heart.  The  world,  it  is  true, 
had  pressed  upon  her  sorely  with  all  its  weight  of  accumu- 
lated clerical  wealth,  but  it  had  not  utterly  crushed  her — 
not  her,  but  only  her  child.  For  the  sins  of  the  father,  are 
they  not  visited  on  the  third  and  fourth  generation  ? 

But  if  any  such  feeling  of  remorse  did  for  a  while  mar 
the  fullness  of  Mrs.  Grantly's  joy,  it  was  soon  dispelled  by 
the  perfect  success  of  her  daughter's  married  life.  At  the 
end  of  the  autumn  the  bride  and  bridegroom  returned  from 
their  tour,  and  it  was  evident  to  all  the  circle  at  Hartletop 
Priory  that  Lord  Dumbello  was  by  no  means  dissatisfied 
with  his  bargain.  His  wife  had  been  admired  every  where 
to  the  top  of  his  bent.  All  the  world  at  Ems,  and  at  Baden, 
and  at  Nice  had  been  stricken  by  the  stately  beauty  of  the 
young  viscountess.  And  then,  too,  her  manner,  style,  and 
high  dignity  of  demeanor  altogether  supported  the  rever- 
ential feeling  which  her  grace  and  form  at  first  inspired. 
She  never  derogated  from  her  husband's  honor  by  the  fic- 
titious liveliness  of  gossip,  or  allowed  any  one  to  forget  the 
peeress  in  the  woman.  Lord  Dumbello  soon  found  that 
his  reputation  for  discretion  was  quite  safe  in  her  hands, 
and  that  there  were  no  lessons  as  to  conduct  in  which  it 
was  necessary  that  he  should  give  instruction. 

Before  the  winter  was  over  she  had  equally  won  the 
hearts  of  all  the  circle  at  Hartletop  Priory.  The  duke  was 
there,  and  declared  to  the  marchioness  that  Dumbello  could 
not  possibly  have  done  better.  "  Indeed,  I  do  not  think 
he  could,"  said  the  happy  mother.  "  She  sees  all  that  she 
ought  to  see,  and  nothing  that  she  ought  not." 

And  then,  in  London,  when  the  season  came,  all  men 
sang  all  manner  of  praises  in  her  favor,  and  Lord  Dumbello 
was  made  aware  that  he  was  reckoned  among  the  wisest 
of  his  age.  He  had  married  a  wife  who  managed  every 
thing  for  him,  who  never  troubled  him,  whom  no  woman 


524  PRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

disliked,  and  whom  every  man  admired.  As  for  feast  of 
reason  and  for  flow  of  soul,  is  it  not  a  question  whether 
any  such  flows  and  feasts  are  necessary  between  a  man  and 
his  wife?  How  many  men  can  truly  assert  that  they  ever 
enjoy  connubial  flows  of  soul,  or  that  connubial  feasts  of 
reason  are  in  their  nature  enjoyable?  But  a  handsome 
Avoman  at  the  head  of  your  table,  who  knows  how  to  dress, 
and  how  to  sit,  and  how  to  get  in  and  out  of  her  carriage 
— who  will  not  disgrace  her  lord  by  her  ignorance,  or  fret 
him  by  her  coquetry,  or  disparage  him  by  her  talent — how 
beautiful  a  thing  it  is !  For  my  own  part,  I  think  that 
Griselda  Grantly  was  born  to  be  the  wife  of  a  great  En- 
glish peer. 

"  After  all,  then,"  said  Miss  Dunstable,  speaking  of  Lady 
Dumbello — she  was  Mrs.  Thorne  at  this  time — "  after  all, 
there  is  some  truth  in  what  our  quaint  latter-day  philoso- 
j)her  tells  us — '  Great  are  thy  powers,  oh  Silence !'  " 

The  marriage  of  our  old  friends  Dr.  Thorne  and  Miss 
Dunstable  was  the  third  on  the  list,  but  that  did  not  take 
place  till  the  latter  end  of  September.  The  laAvyers  on 
such  an  occasion  had  no  inconsiderable  work  to  accom- 
plish ;  and  though  the  lady  was  not  coy,  nor  the  gentle- 
man slow,  it  Avas  not  found  practicable  to  arrange  an 
earlier  wedding.  The  ceremony  was  performed  at  St. 
George's,  Hanover  Square,  and  was  not  brilHant  in  any  spe- 
cial degree.  London  at  the  time  was  empty,  and  the  few 
persons  whose  presence  was  actually  necessary  were  im- 
ported from  the  country  for  the  occasion.  The  bride  was 
given  away  by  Dr.  Easyman,  and  the  two  bridesmaids 
were  ladies  who  had  lived  with  Miss  Dunstable  as  compan- 
ions. Young  Mr.  Gresham  and  his  wife  were  there,  as  was 
also  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  who  was  not  at  all  prepared  to 
drop  her  old  friend  in  her  new  sphere  of  life. 

"  We  shall  call  her  Mrs.  Thorne  instead  of  Miss  Dun- 
stable, and  I  really  think  that  that  will  be  all  the  difter- 
ence,"  said  Mrs.  Harold  Smith. 

To  Mrs.  Harold  Smith  that  probably  was  all  the  differ- 
ence, but  it  was  not  so  to  the  persons  most  concerned. 

According  to  the  plan  of  life  arranged  between  the  doc- 
tor and  his  wife,  she  was  still  to  keep  up  her  house  in  Lon- 
don, remaining  there  during  such  period  of  the  season  as 
she  might  choose,  and  receiving  him  when  it  might  appear 
good  to  him  to  visit  her ;  but  he  was  to  be  the  master  in 


FRAMLEY   PAIISOKAGE.  525 

the  country.  A  mansion  at  the  Chase  was  to  be  built,  and, 
till  such  time  as  that  was  completed,  they  would  keep  on 
the  old  house  at  Greshamsbury.  Into  this,  small  as  it  was, 
Mrs.  Thorne — in  spite  of  her  great  wealth — did  not  disdain 
to  enter.  But  subsequent  circumstances  changed  their 
plans.  It  was  found  that  Mr.  Sowerby  could  not  or  would 
not  live  at  Chaldicotes ;  and,  therefore,  in  the  second  year 
of  their  marriage,  that  place  was  prepared  for  them.  They 
are  now  well  known  to  the  whole  county  as  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Thorne  of  Chaldicotes — of  Chaldicotes,  in  distinction  to  the 
well-known  Thornes  of  Ullathorne,  in  the  eastern  division. 
Here  they  live  respected  by  their  neighbors,  and  on  terms 
of  alliance  both  with  the  Duke  of  Omnium  and  with  Lady 
Lufton. 

"  Of  course  tliose  dear  old  avenues  will  be  very  sad  to 
me,"  said  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  when,  at  the  end  of  a  London 
season,  she  was  invited  down  to  Chaldicotes ;  and  as  she 
spoke  she  put  her  handkerchief  up  to  her  eyes. 

"  Well,  dear,  what  can  T  do?"  said  Mrs.  Thorne.  "I 
can't  cut  them  down ;  the  doctor  would  not  let  me." 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Mrs.  Harold  Smith,  sighing ;  and,  in  spito 
of  her  feelings,  she  did  visit  Chaldicotes. 

But  it  was  October  before  Lord  Lufton  was  made  a  hap- 
py man  —  that  is,  if  the  fruition  of  his  happiness  was  a 
greater  joy  than  the  anticipation  of  it.  I  will  not  say  that 
the  happiness  of  marriage  is  like  the  Dead  Sea  fruit — an 
apple  which,  when  eaten,  turns  to  bitter  ashes  in  the  mouth. 
Such  pretended  sarcasm  would  be  very  false.  Neverthe- 
less, is  it  not  the  fact  that  the  sweetest  morsel  of  love's 
feast  has  been  eaten,  that  the  freshest,  fairest  blush  of  the 
flower  has  been  snatched  and  has  passed  away,  when  the 
ceremony  at  the  altar  has  been  performed,  and  legal  pos- 
session has  been  given  ?  There  is  an  aroma  of  love,  an  un- 
definable  delicacy  of  flavor,  which  escapes  and  is  gone  be- 
fore the  church  portal  is  left,  vanishing  with  the  maiden 
name,  and  incompatible  with  the  solid  comfort  appertaining 
to  the  rank  of  wife.  To  love  one's  own  spouse,  and  to  be 
loved  by  her,  is  the  ordinary  lot  of  man,  and  is  a  duty  ex- 
acted under  penalties.  But  to  be  allowed  to  love  youth 
and  beauty  that  is  not  one's  own — to  know  that  one  is 
loved  by  a  soft  being  who  still  hangs  cowering  from  the 
eye  of  the  world  as  though  her  love  were  all  but  illicit — 
can  it  be  that  a  man  is  made  happy  when  a  state  of  antici- 


526  FKAMLEY    PARSONAGE. 

patioii  such  as  this  is  brought  to  a  close  ?  No ;  when  the 
husband  walks  back  from  the  altar,  he  has  aheacly  swal- 
lowed the  choicest  dainties  of  his  banquet.  The  beef  and 
pudding  of  married  life  are  then  in  store  for  him — or  per- 
haps only  the  bread  and  cheese.  Let  him  take  care  lest 
hardly  a  crust  remain,  or  perhaps  not  a  crust. 

But,  before  we  finish,  let  us  go  back  for  one  moment  to 
the  dainties  —  to  the  time  before  the  beef  and  pudding 
were  served — while  Lucy  was  still  at  the  Parsonage,  and 
Lord  Lufton  still  staying  at  Framley  Court.  He  had  come 
up  one  morning,  as  was  now  frequently  his  wont,  and,  after 
a  few  minutes'  conversation,  Mrs.  Robarts  had  left  the 
room — as  not  unfrequently  on  such  occasions  was  her  wont. 
Lucy  was  Avorking  and  continued  her  work,  and  Lord  Luf- 
ton for  a  moment  or  two  sat  looking  at  her ;  then  he  got 
up  abruptly,  and,  standing  before  her,  thus  questioned  her : 

"  Lucy,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  what  of  Lucy  now  ?  Any  particular  fault  this 
morning  ?" 

"  Yes,  a  most  particular  fault.  When  I  asked  you,  here, 
in  this  room,  on  this  very  spot,  whether  it  was  possible  that 
you  should  love  me,  why  did  you  say  that  it  was  impossi- 
ble?" 

Lucy,  instead  of  answering  at  the  moment,  looked  down 
upon  the  carj^et,  to  see  if  his  memory  were  as  good  as  hers. 
Yes,  he  was  standing  on  the  exact  spot  where  he  had  stood 
before.  No  spot  in  all  the  world  was  more  frequently  clear 
before  her  own  eyes. 

"Do  you  remember  that  day,  Lucy  ?"  he  said  again. 

"  Yes,  I  remember  it,"  she  said. 

"  Why  did  you  say  it  was  impossible  ?" 

"Did  I  say  impossible?" 

She  knew  that  she  had  said  so.  She  remembered  how 
she  had  waited  till  he  had  gone,  and  that  then,  going  to 
her  own  ]'oom,  she  had  reproached  herself  with  the  cow- 
ardice of  the  falsehood.  She  had  lied  to  him  then ;  and 
now — how  was  she  punished  for  it ! 

"  Well,  I  suppose  it  was  possible,"  she  said. 

"  But  why  did  you  say  so  when  you  knew  it  would  make 
me  so  miserable  ?" 

"  Miserable !  nay,  but  you  went  away  happy  enough.  I 
thought  I  had  never  seen  you  look  better  satisfied." 

"Lucy!" 


FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  527 

"  You  had  done  your  duty,  and  had  had  such  a  lucky 
escape  !  What  astonishes  me  is  that  you  should  have  ever 
come  back  again.  But. the  pitcher  may  go  to  the  well  oncoi 
too  often,  Lord  Lufton." 

"  But  will  you  tell  me  the  truth  now  ?" 
*' What  truth?" 

"That  day,  when  I  came  to  you — did  you  love  me  at  all 
then  ?" 

"  We'll  let  by-gones  be  by-gones,  if  you  please." 
"  But  I  swear  you  shall  tell  me.     It  was  such  a  cruel 
thing  to  answer  me  as  you  did,  unless  you  meant  it.     And 
yel  you  never  saw  me  again  till  after  my  mother  had  been 
over  for  you  to  Mrs.  Crawley's." 

"  It  was  absence  that  made  me — care  for  you." 
"Lucy, I  swear  I  believe  you  loved  me  then." 
"Ludovic,  some  conjuror  must  have  told  you  that." 
She  was  standing  as  she  spoke,  and,  laughing  at  him,  she 
held  up  her  hands  and  shook  her  head.     13ut  she  w.'is  now 
in  his  power,  and  he  had  his  revenge — his  revenge  for  her 
past  fiilsehood  and  her  present  joke.     How  could  he  be 
more  happy,  when  he  was  made  happy  by  having  her  all 
his  own,  than  he  was  now  ? 

And  in  these  days  there  again  came  up  that  petition  as 
to  her  riding — with  very  different  result  now  than  on  that 
former  occasion.  There  were  ever  so  many  objections 
then.  There  was  no  habit,  and  Lucy  was — or  said  that 
she  was — afraid ;  and  then,  what  would  Lady  Lufton  say  ? 
But  now  Lady  Lufton  thought  it  would  be  quite  right; 
only  were  they  quite  sure  about  the  horse  ?  Was  Ludovic 
certain  that  the  horse  had  been  ridden  by  a  lady?  And 
Lady  Meredith's  habits  were  dragged  out  as  a  matter  of 
course,  and  one  of  them  chipped,  and  snipped,  and  altered 
without  any  compunction.  And  as  for  fear,  there  could  be 
no  bolder  horsewoman  than  Lucy  Robarts.  It  was  quite 
clear  to  all  Framley  that  riding  was  the  very  thing  for  her. 
"But  I  never  shall  be  happy,  Ludovic,  till  you  have  got  a 
horse  properly  suited  for  her,"  said  Lady  Lufton. 

And  then,  also,  came  the  aifair  of  her  wedding  garments 
— of  her  trousseau — as  to  which  I  can  not  boast  that  she 
showed  capacity  or  steadiness  at  all  equal  to  that  of  Lady 
Dumbello.  Lady  Lufton,  however,  thought  it  a  very  seri- 
ous matter ;  and  as,  in  her  opinion,  Mrs.  Robarts  did  not 
go  about  it  with  sufficient  energy,  she  took  the  matter 


528  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

mainly  into  her  own  hands,  striking  Lucy  dumb  by  her 
frowns  and  nods,  deciding  on  .eveiy  thing  herself,  down  to 
the  very  tags  of  the  boot-ties. 

"  My  dear,  you  really  must  allow  me  to  know  what  I  am 
about ;"  and  Lady  Lufton  patted  her  on  the  arm  as  she 
spoke.  "  I  did  it  all  for  Justinia,  and  she  never  had  reason 
to  regret  a  single  thing  that  I  bought.  If  you'll  ask  her, 
she'll  tell  you  so." 

Lucy  did  not  ask  her  future  sister-in-law,  seeing  that  she 
had  no  doubt  whatever  as  to  her  future  mother-in-law's 
judgment  on  the  articles  in  question.  Only  the  mone^! 
And  what  could  she  want  with  six  dozen  pocket-handker- 
chiefs all  at  once  ?  There  w^as  no  question  of  Lord  Luf- 
ton's  going  out  as  governor  general  to  India !  But  twelve 
dozen  pocket-handkerchiefs  had  not  been  too  many  for  Gri- 
selda's  imagination. 

And  Lucy  would  sit  alone  in  the  draAving-room  at  Fram- 
ley  Court,  filling  her  heart  with  thoughts  of  that  evening 
when  she  had  first  sat  there.  She  had  then  resolved,  pain- 
fully, with  inward  tears,  with  groanings  of  her  spirit,  that 
she  was  w^rongly  placed  in  being  in  that  company.  Gri- 
selda  Grantly  had  been  there,  quite  at  her  ease,  petted  by 
Lady  Lufton,  admired  by  Lord  Lufton,  while  she  had  re- 
tired out  of  sight,  sore  at  heart  because  she  felt  herself  to 
be  no  fit  companion  to  those  around  her.  Then  he  had 
come  to  her,  making  matters  almost  w^orse  by  talking  to 
her,  bringing  the  tears  into  her  eyes  by  his  good-nature, 
but  still  wounding  her  by  the  feeling  that  she  could  not 
speak  to  him  at  her  ease. 

But  things  were  at  a  difierent  pass  with  her  now.  lie 
had  chosen  her — her  out  of  all  the  world,  and  brought  her 
there  to  share  with  him  his  own  home,  his  owm  honors,  and 
all  that  he  had  to  give.  She  was  the  apple  of  his  eye  and 
the  pride  of  his  heart.  And  the  stern  mother,  of  whom 
she  had  stood  so  much  in  awe,  who  at  first  had  passed  her 
by  as  a  thing  not  to  be  noticed,  and  had  then  sent  out  to 
her  that  she  might  be  warned  to  keep  herself  aloof,  now 
hardly  knew  in  what  way  she  might  sufficiently  show  her 
love,  regard,  and  solicitude. 

I  must  not  say  that  Lucy  w^as  not  proud  in  these  mo- 
ments— that  her  heart  was  not  elated  at  these  thoughts. 
Success  does  beget  pride,  as  failure  begets  shame.  But  her 
pride  was  of  that  sort  which  is  in  no  way  disgraceful  to 


FKAMLEY   PARSONAGE.  529 

either  man  or  woman,  and  was  accompanied  by  pure  true 
love,  and  a  full  resolution  to  do  her  duty  in  that  state  of 
life  to  which  it  had  pleased  her  God  to  call  her.  She  did 
rejoice  greatly  to  think  that  she  had  been  chosen,  and  not 
Griselda.  Was  it  possible  that,  having  loved,  she  should 
not  so  rejoice,  or  that,  rejoicing,  she  should  not  be  proud 
of  her  love  ? 

They  spent  the  whole  winter  abroad,  leaving  the  dow- 
ager Lady  Lufton  to  her  plans  and  preparations  for  their 
reception  at  Framley  Court ;  and  in  the  following  spring 
they  appeared  in  London,  and  there  set  up  their  staff. 
Lucy  had  some  inner  tremblings  of  the  spirit  and  quiver- 
ings about  the  heart  at  thus  beginning  her  duty  before  the 
great  world,  but  she  said  little  or  nothing  to  her  husband 
on  the  matter.  Other  women  had  done  as  much  before 
her  time,  and  by  courage  had  gone  through  witb  it.  It 
would  be  dreadful  enough,  that  position  in  her  own  house, 
with  lords  and  ladies  bowing  to  her,  and  stiff  members  of 
Parliament  for  whom  it  would  be  necessary  to  make  small 
talk ;  but,  nevertheless,  it  was  to  be  endured.  The  time 
came,  and  she  did  endure  it.  The  time  came,  and  before 
the  first  six  weeks  were  over  she  found  that  it  was  easy 
enough.  The  lords  and  ladies  got  into  their  proper  places, 
and  talked  to  her  about  ordinary  matters  in  a  way  that 
made  no  effort  necessary,  and  the  members  of  Parliament 
were  hardly  more  stiff  than  the  clergymen  she  had  known 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Framley. 

She  had  not  been  long  in  town  before  she  met  Lady 
Dumbello.  At  this  interview  also  she  had  to  overcome 
some  little  inward  emotion.  On  the  few  occasions  on  which 
she  had  met  Griselda  Grantly  at  Framley  they  had  not 
nmch  progressed  in  friendship,  and  Lucy  had  felt  that  she 
had  been  despised  by  the  rich  beauty.  She  also,  in  her 
turn,  had  disliked,  if  she  had  not  despised,  her  rival.  But 
how  would  it  be  now  ?  Lady  Dumbello  could  hardly  de- 
spise her,  and  yet  it  did  not  seem  possible  that  they  should 
meet  as  friends.  They  did  meet,  and  Lucy  came  forward 
with  a  jDretty  eagerness  to  give  her  hand  to  Lady  Lufton's 
late  favorite.  Lady  Dumbello  smiled  slightly — the  same 
old  smile  which  had  come  across  her  face  when  they  two 
had  been  first  introduced  in  the  Framley  drawing-room ; 
the  same  smile  without  the  variation  of  a  line — took  the 
offered  hand,  muttered  a  word  or  two,  and  then  receded. 

Z 


530  FRAMLEY   PARSONAGE. 

It  was  exactly  as  she  had  done  before.  She  had  never  de- 
spised Lucy  Robarts.  She  had  accorded  to  the  parson's 
sister  the  amount  of  cordiality  with  which  she  usually  re- 
ceived her  acquaintance,  and  now  she  could  do  no  more 
for  the  peer's  wife.  Lady  Dumbello  and  Lady  Lufton 
have  knoAvn  each  other  ever  since,  and  have  occasionally 
visited  at  each  other's  houses,  but  the  intimacy  between 
them  has  never  gone  beyond  this. 

The  dowager  came  up  to  town  for  about  a  month,  and, 
while  there,  was  contented  to  fill  a  second  place.  She  had 
no  desire  to  be  the  great  lady  in  London.  But  then  came 
the  trying  period  when  they  commenced  their  life  together 
at  Framley  Court.  The  elder  lady  formally  renounced  her 
place  at  the  top  of  the  table — formally  persisted  in  renounc- 
ing it,  though  Lucy,  with  tears,  implored  her  to  resume  it. 
She  said  also,  with  equal  formality — repeating  her  determ- 
ination over  and  over  again  to  Mrs.  Robarts  with  great  en- 
ergy— that  she  would  in  no  respect  detract,  by  interference 
of  her  own,  from  the  authority  of  the  proper  mistress  of  the 
house ;  but,  nevertheless,  it  is  well  known  to  every  one  at 
Framley  that  old  Lady  Lufton  still  reigns  paramount  in 
the  parish. 

"Yes,  my  dear ;  the  big  room  looking  into  the  little  gar- 
den to  the  south  was  always  the  nursery,  and,  if  you  ask 
my  advice,  it  wdll  still  remain  so.  But,  of  course,  any  room 
you  please — " 

And  the  big  room,  looking  into  the  little  garden  to  the 
south,  is  still  the  nursery  at  Framley  Court. 


THE   END. 


VALUABLE  STANDARD  WORKS 

FOR  PUBLIC  AND  PRIVATE  LIBRARIES, 
Published  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  Yokk. 


tW  For  a  full  Lint  of  Books  suitable  for  Libraries,  see  Harpkr  &  Brotuebs' 
Trade-List  and  Catalogue,  ichich  may  be  had  gratuitously  on  application 
to  the  Publishers  personally,  or  by  letter  enclosing  Five  Cents. 

Bf  Harper  &  Brothers  will  send  any  of  the  following  works  by  mail,  postage 
prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


MOTLEY'S  DUTCH  REPUBLIC.  The  Kiee  of  the  Dutch  Republic.  By 
John  Lothrop  Motley,  LL.D.,  D.C.L.  With  a  Portrait  of  William  of 
Orange.    Svols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  $10  50. 

MOTLEY'S  UNITED  NETHERLANDS.  History  of  the  United  Nether- 
lands: from  the  Death  of  William  the  Silent  to  the  Twelve  Years'  Truce 
—1609.  With  a  full  View  of  the  English-Dutch  Struggle  against  Spain, 
and  of  the  Origin  and  Destruction  of  the  Spanish  Armada.  By  John 
LoTUROP  Motley,  LL.D.,  D.C.L.    Portraits.    4  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  $14  00. 

NAPOLEON'S  LIFE  OF  C^SAR.    The  History  of  Julius  Caesar.    By  His 
Imperial  Majesty  Napoleon  IIL    Two  Volumes  ready.    Library  Edition, 
8vo,  Cloth,  $3  50  per  vol. 
Maps  to  Vols.  I.  and  II.  sold  separately.    Price  $1  50  each,  net. 

HAYDN'S  DICTIONARY  OF  DATES,  relating  to  all  Ages  and  Nations. 
For  Universal  Reference.  Edited  by  Benjamin  Vincent,  Assistant  Secre- 
tary and  Keeper  of  the  Library  of  the  Royal  Institution  of  Great  Britain ; 
and  Revised  for  the  Use  of  American  Readers.  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00  j  Sheep, 
$6  00. 

MACGREGOR'S  ROB  ROY  ON  THE  JORDAN.  The  Rob  Roy  on  the 
Jordan,  Nile,  Red  Sea,  and  Gennesareth,  &c.  A  Canoe  Cruise  in  Pales- 
tine and  Egypt,  and  the  Waters  of  Damascus.  By  J.  Macgreooe,  M.A. 
With  Maps  and  Illustrations.    Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $2  60. 

WALLACE'S  MALAY  ARCHIPELAGO.  The  Malay  Archipelago :  the  Land 
of  the  Orang-utan  and  the  Bird  of  Paradise.  A  Narrative  of  Travel,  1854- 
1862.  With  Studies  of  Man  and  Nature.  By  Alfred  Russel  Wallace. 
With  Ten  Maps  and  Fifty-one  Elegant  Illustrations.  Crown  Svo,  Cloth, 
$3  50. 

WHYMPER'S  ALASKA.  Travel  and  Adventure  in  the  Territory  of  Alaska, 
formerly  Russian  America— now  Ceded  to  the  United  States— and  in  va- 
rious other  parts  of  the  North  Pacific.  By  Frederick  Whympee.  With 
Map  and  Illustrations.    Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

ORTON'S  ANDES  AND  THE  AMAZON.  The  Andes  and  the  Amazon ; 
or.  Across  the  Continent  of  South  America.  By  James  Orton,  M.A., 
Professor  of  Natural  History  in  Vassar  College,  Poughkeepsie,  N.  Y.,  and 
Corresponding  Member  of  the  Academy  of  Natural  Sciences,  Philadelphia. 
With  a  New  Map  of  Equatorial  America  and  numerous  Illastratlons. 
Crown  8fo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 


2       Harper  6^  Brothers'  Valuable  Standard  Works. 

LOSSING'S  FIELD-BOOK  OF  THE  EEVOLUTION.  Pictorial  Field-Book 
of  the  Revolution ;  or,  Illustrations,  by  Pen  and  Pencil,  of  the  History, 
Biogi-aphy,  Scenery,  Relics,  and  Traditions  of  the  War  for  Independence. 
By  Benson  J.  Lobsing.  2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  $14  00 ;  Sheep,  $15  00 ;  Half 
Calf,  $18  00  ;  Full  Turkey  Morocco,  $22  00. 

LOSSING'S  FIELD-BOOK  OF  THE  WAR  OF  1812.  Pictorial  Field-Book 
of  the  War  of  1812 ;  or,  Illustrations,  by  Pen  and  Pencil,  of  the  History, 
Biography,  Scenery,  Relics,  and  Traditions  of  the  Last  War  for  American 
Independence.  By  Benson  J.  Lossing.  With  several  hundred  Engrav- 
ings on  Wood,  by  Lossing  and  Barritt,  chiefly  from  Original  Sketches  by 
the  Author.    1088  pages,  Svo,  Cloth,  $7  00 ;  Sheep,  $8  50 ;  Half  Calf,  $10  00. 

WINCHELL'S  SKETCHES  OF  CREATION.  Sketches  of  Creation:  a  Pop- 
ular  View  of  some  of  the  Grand  Conclusions  of  the  Sciences  in  reference 
to  the  History  of  Matter  and  of  Life.  Together  with  a  Statement  of  the 
Intimations  of  Science  respecting  the  Primordial  Condition  and  the 
Ultimate  Destiny  of  the  Earth  and  the  Solar  System.  By  Alexandeu 
WiNCHELL,  LL.D.,  Professor  of  Geology,  Zoology,  and  Botany  in  the 
University  of  Michigan,  and  Director  of  the  State"  Geological  Survey. 
With  Illustrations.    12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

WHITE'S  MASSACRE  OF  ST.  BARTHOLOMEW.  The  Massacre  of  St. 
Bartholomew :  Preceded  by  a  History  of  the  Religious  Wars  in  the  Reign 
of  Charles  IX.  By  Henky  White,  M.A.  With  Illustrations.  Svo,  Cloth, 
$175. 

ALFORD'S  GREEK  TESTAMENT.  The  Greek  Testament :  with  a  critical- 
ly-revised Text ;  a  Digest  of  Various  Readings ;  Marginal  References  to 
Verbal  and  Idiomatic  Usage  ;  Prolegomena ;  and  a  Critical  and  Exegeti- 
cal  Commentary.  For  the  Use  of  Theological  Students  and  Ministers. 
By  Henry  Alfoet),  D.D.,  Dean  of  Canterbury.  Vol.  I.,  containing  the 
Four  Gospels.    944  pages,  8vo,  Cloth,  $6  00 ;  Sheep,  $6  50. 

ABBOTT'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION.  The  French 
Revolution  of  1789,  as  viewed  in  the  Light  of  Republican  Institutions.  By 
John  S.  C.  Abbott,    With  100  Engravings.    Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

ABBOTT'S  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  The  History  of  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte. By  John  S.  C.  Auhott.  With  Maps,  Woodcuts,  and  Portraits 
on  Steel.    2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth;  $10  00. 

ABBOTT'S  NAPOLEON  AT  ST.  HELENA;  or,  Interesting^ Anecdotes  and 
Remarkable  Conversations  of  the  Emperor  during  the  Five  and  a  Half 
Years  of  his  Captivity.  Collected  from  the  Memorials  of  Las  Casas, 
O'Meara,  Montholon,  Antommarchi,  and  others.  By  John  S.  C.  Abbott. 
With  Illustrations.  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

ADDISON'S  COMPLETE  WORKS.  The  Works  of  Joseph  Addison,  em- 
bracing the  whole  of  the  "Spectator."  Complete  in  3  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth, 
$6  00. 

ALCOCK'S  JAPAN.  The  Capital  of  the  Tycoon :  a  Narrative  of  a  Three 
Years'  Residence  in  Japan.  By  Sir  Rtjtherfotii)  Alcook,  K.C.B.,  Her 
Majesty's  Envoy  Extraordinary  and  Minister  Plenipotentiary  in  Japan. 
With  Maps  and  Engravings.    2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $3  50. 

ALISON'S  HISTORY  OF  EUROPE.  First  Series  :  From  the  Commence- 
ment of  the  French  Revolution,  in  1789,  to  the  Restoration  of  the  Bour- 
bons, in  1815.  [In  addition  to  the  Notes  on  Chapter  LXXVL,  which  cor- 
rect the  errors  of  the  original  work  concerning  the  United  States,  a 
copious  Analytical  Index  has  been  appended  to  this  American  edition.] 
Second  Series  :  From  the  Fall  of  Napoleon,  in  1815,  to  the  Accession  of 
Louis  Napoleon,  in  1852.    8  vols,,  Svo,  Cloth,  $16  00. 

BANCROFT'S  MISCELLANIES.  Literary  and  Historical  Miscellanies. 
By  George  Bancroft.    Svo,  Cloth,  $3  00. 


Harper  6^  Brothers'  Valuable  Standard  Works.       3 

BALDWIN'S  PRE-HISTORIC  NATIONS.  Pre-Historic  Nations ;  or,  In- 
quiries concerning  sjme  of  the  Great  Peoples  and  Civilizations  of  An- 
tiquity, and  their  Probable  Relation  to  a  still  Older  Civilization  of  the 
Ethiopians  or  Cuchites  of  Arabia.  By  John  D.  Baldwin,  Member  of 
the  American  Oriental  Society.    12mo,  Cloth,  $1  75. 

BARTH'S  NORTH  AND  CENTRAL  AFRICA.  Travels  and  Discoveries 
in  North  and  Central  Africa :  beinj?  a  Journal  of  an  Expedition  under- 
taken under  the  Auspices  of  H.  B.  M.'s  Government,  in  the  Years  1849- 
1S55.  By  Heney  Babtu,  Ph.D.,  D.C.L.  Illustrated.  3  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth, 
$12  00. 

HENRY  WARD  BEECHER'S  SERMONS.  Sermons  by  Henry  Warp  Beecii- 
EK,  Plymouth  Church,  Brooklyn.  Selected  from  Published  and  Unpub- 
lished'Discourses,  aud  Revised  by  their  Author.  With  Steel  Portrait. 
Complete  in  2  vols.,  Bvo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

LYMAN  BEECHER'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY,  &o.  Autobiography,  Corre- 
spondence, &c.,  of  Lyman  Beecher,  D.D.  Edited  by  his  Son,  Cuarles 
Beecuer.  With  Three  Steel  Portraits,  and  Engravings  on  Wood.  In 
2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

BELLOWS'S  old  WORLD.  The  Old  World  in  its  New  Face :  Impressions 
of  Europe  iu  1S67-1S6S.  By  Hej,ey  W.  Bellows.  2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth, 
$3  50. 

BOSWELL'S  JOHNSON.  The  Life  of  Samuel  Johnson,  LL.D.  Including 
a  Journey  to  the  Hebrides.  By  James  Boswell,  Esq.  A  New  Edition, 
with  numerous  Additions  and  Notes.  By  John  Wilson  Croker,  LL.D., 
F.R.S.     Portrait  of  Boswell.    2  vols.,  Bvo,  Cloth,  $4  00. 

BROD  HEAD'S  HISTORY  OF  NEW  YORK.  History  of  the  State  of  New 
York.  By  Joun  Romeyn  Beoduead.  First  Period,  1609-1G64.  8vo. 
Cloth,  $3  00. 

BULWER'S  PROSE  WORKS.  Miscellaneous  Prose  Works  of  Edward  Bul- 
wer.  Lord  Lytton.    2  vols.,  12rao,  Cloth,  $3  50. 

BURNS'S  LIFE  AND  WORKS.  The  Life  and  Works  of  Robert  Burns. 
Edited  by  Robert  Cuambers.    4  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $6  00. 

CARLYLE'S  FREDERICK  THE  GREAT.  History  of  Friedrich  II.,  called 
Frederick  the  Great.  By  Tuomas  Carlyle.  Portraits,  Maps,  Plans, 
&c.    -C  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $12  00. 

CARLYLE'S  FRENCH  REVOLUTION.  History  of  the  French  Revolution. 
Newly  Revised  by  the  Author,  with  Index,  &c.  2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth, 
.$3  50. 

CARLYLE'S  OLIVER  CROMWELL.  Letters  and  Speeches  of  Oliver  Crom- 
well. With  Elucidations  aud  Connecting  Narrative.  2  vols.,  12mo, 
Cloth,  $3  50. 

CHALMERS'S  POSTHUMOUS  WORKS.  The  Posthumous  Works  of  Dr. 
Chalmers.  Edited  by  his  Son-in-Law,  Rev.  William  Hanna,  LL.D. 
Complete  in  9  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $13  50. 

COLERIDGE'S  COMPLETE  WORKS.  The  Complete  Works  of  Samuel 
Taylor  Coleridge.  With  an  Introductory  Essay  upon  his  Philosophical 
and  Theological  Opinions.  Edited  by  Professor  Suedp.  Complete  in 
Seven  Vols.    With  a  fine  Portrait.    Small  8vo,  Cloth,  $10  50. 

CURTIS'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION.  History  of  the  Origin, 
Formation,  and  Adoption  of  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States.  By 
George  Ticknor  Curtis.    2  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  $G  00. 

DAVIS'S  CARTHAGE.  Carthage  and  her  Remains :  bein^  an  Account  of 
the  Excavations  and  Researches  on  the  Site  of  the  Phoenician  Metropolis 
in  Africa  and  other  adjacent  Places.  Conducted  under  the  Auspices  of 
Her  Majesty's  Government.  By  Dr.  Davis,  F.R.G.S.  Profusely  Illus- 
trated with  Maps,  Woodcuts,  ChroiAo-Lithographs,'&c.  Svo,  Cloth,  $4  00. 


4       Harper  6^  Brothers'  Valuable  Standard  Works, 

DRAPER'S  CIVIL  WAR.  History  of  the  American  Civil  War.  By  John 
W.  Draper,  M.D.,  LL.D.,  Professor  of  Chemistry  and  Physiology  in  the 
University  of  New  York.    In  Three  Vols.    Svo,  Cloth,  $3  50  per  vol. 

DRAPER'S  INTELLECTUAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  EUROPK  A  History 
of  the  Intellectual  Development  of  Europe.  By  Joun  W.  Draper,  M.D., 
LL.D.,  Professor  of  Chemistry  and  Physioloj?y  in  the  University  of  Nevr 
York.    Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

DRAPER'S  AMERICAN  CIVIL  POLICY.  Thoughts  on  the  Future  Civil 
Policy  of  America.  By  John  W.  Draper,  M.D.,  LL.D.,  Professor  of 
Chemistry  and  Physiology  in  the  University  of  New  York.  Crown  Svo, 
Cloth,  $2  50. 

DU  CHAILLU'S  AFRICA,  Explorations  and  Adventures  in  Equatorial  Af- 
rica :  with  Accounts  of  the  Manners  and  Customs  of  the  People,  and 
of  the  Chase  of  the  Gorilla,  the  Crocodile,  Leopard,  Elephant,  Hippopo- 
tamus, and  other  Animals.  By  Paul  B.  Du  Cuaillu.  Numerous  Illustra- 
tions.   Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

DU  CHAILLU'S  ASHANGO  LAND.  A  Journey  to  Ashango  Land:  and 
Further  Penetration  into  Equatorial  Africa.  By  Paul  B.  Du  Cuailltt. 
New  Edition.    Handsomely  Illustrated.    Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

DOOLITTLE'S  CHINA.  Social  Life  of  the  Chinese  :  with  some  Account  of 
their  Religious,  Governmental,  Educational,  and  Business  Customs  and 
Opinions.  With  special  but  not  exclusive  Reference  to  Fuhchau.  By 
Rev.  Justus  Doolittle,  Fourteen  Years  Member  of  the  Fuhchau  Mis- 
sion of  the  American  Board.  Illustrated  with  more  than  150  character- 
istic Engravings  on  Wood.    2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

EDGEWORTirS  (Miss)  NOVELS.  With  Engravmgs.  10  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth, 
$15  00. 

GIBBON'S  ROME,  History  of  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire. 
By  Edward  GinnoN,  With  Notes  by  Rev.  H,  H.  Milman  and  M,  Guizot. 
A  new  cheap  Edition,  To  which  is  added  a  complete  Index  of  the  whole 
Work,  and  a  Portrait  of  the  Author.    6  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $9  00. 

GROTE'S  HISTORY  OF  GREECE.    12  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $18  00. 

HALE'S  (Mrs.)  WOMAN'S  RECORD.  Woman's  Record ;  or.  Biographical 
Sketches  of  all  Distinguished  Women,  from  the  Creation  to  the  Present 
Time.  Arranged  in  Four  Eras,  with  Selections  from  Female  Writers  of 
each  Era.  By  Mrs.  Sarah  Josepua  Hale.  Illustrated  with  more  than 
200  Portraits.    Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

HALL'S  ARCTIC  RESEARCHES.  Arctic  Researches  and  Life  among  the 
Esquimaux:  being  the  Narrative  of  an  Expedition  in  Search  of  Sir  John 
Franklin,  in  the  Years  1S60, 1861,  and  1862.  By  Cuarles  Francis  Hall. 
With  Maps  and  100  Illustrations.  The  Illustrations  are  from  Original 
Drawings  by  Charles  Parsons,  Henry  L.  Stephens,  Solomon  Eytinge, 
W.  S,  L,  Jewett,  and  Granville  Perkins,  after  Sketches  by  Captain  Hall. 
Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00.  •'      ^ 

HALLAM'S  CONSTITUTIONAL  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND,  from  the  Ac 
cession  of  Henry  VIL  to  the  Death  of  George  IL    Svo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

HALLAM'S  LITERATURE.  Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe  dur- 
ing the  Fifteenth,  Sixteenth,  and  Seventeenth  Centuries.  By  Henry 
Halla  m.    2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $4  00. 

HALLAM'S  MIDDLE  AGES.  State  of  Europe  during  the  Middle  Ages.  By 
Henry  Hallam.    Svo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

niLDRETH'S  HISTORY  of  THE  UNITED  STATES  First  Series  :  From 
the  First  Settlement  of  the  Country  to  the  Adoption  of  the  Federal 
Constitution.  Second  Series  :  From  the  Adoption  of  the  Federal  Con- 
stitution to  the  End  of  the  Sixteenth  Congress.  6  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth, 
$18  00. 


Harper  &*  Brothers^  Valuable  Standard  Works.      5 

HARPER'S  PICTORIAL  HISTORY  OF  THE  REBELLION.  Harper's  Pic- 
torial History  of  the  Great  Rebellion  in  the  United  States.  With  nearly 
1000  Illustrations.    In  Two  Vols.,  4to.    Price  $G  00  per  vol. 

HARPER'S  NEW  CLASSICAL  LIBRARY.    Literal  Translations. 

The  following  Volumes  are  now  ready.    Portraits.    12nio,  Cloth,  $1  50 
each. 

C^SAB.  — ViBGIL.  —  SaLLUST.  —  HOEACE.—  CiCEKO'S   ObATIONS. — CiOKBO'B 

Offices,  «fec— Cioeko  on'Oratoby  and  Oeatoes.— Taoitcs  (2  vols.). 
— Tebence.— SoPuocLES. — JtrvENAL. — Xenophon.— Homeb's  Iliai>. — 

HoMEB'S  OdVSSEY.  —  HeBODOTUS.  —  DkMOSTUENES.  —  TUUCYUIDES.  — 

^scuYLUS.— Euripides  (2  vols.). 

HELPS'S  SPANISH  CONQUEST.  The  Spanish  Conquest  in  America,  and 
its  Relation  to  the  History  of  Slavery  and  to  the  Government  of  Colonies. 
By  ABxnuE  Helps.    4  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $6  00. 

HLTIE'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  History  of  England,  from  the  Inva- 
sion of  Julius  Caesar  to  the  Abdication  of  James  II.,  16S8.  By  David 
Hume.  A  new  Edition,  with  the  Author's  last  Corrections  and  Improve- 
ments. To  which  is  Prefixed  a  short  Account  of  his  Life,  written  by 
Uimselfl    With  a  Portrait  of  the  Author.    6  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $9  00. 

JAY'S  WORKS.  Complete  Works  of  Rev.  William  Jay :  comprising  his 
Sermons,  Family  Discourses,  Morning  and  Evening  Exercises  for  every 
Day  in  the  Year,  Family  Prayers,  &c.  Author's  enlarged  Edition,  re- 
vised.   3  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $6  00. 

JOHNSON'S  COMPLETE  WORKS.  The  Works  of  Samuel  Johnson,  LL.D. 
With  an  Essay  on  his  Life  and  Genius,  by  Artuce  Murpuy,  Esq,  Por- 
trait of  Johnson.    2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $4  bO. 

KINGuAKE'S  CRIMEAN  WAR.  The  Invasion  of  the  Crimea,  and  an  Ac- 
count of  its  Progress  down  to  the  Death  of  Lord  Raglan.  By  Alexander 
William  Kinglake.  With  Maps  and  Plans.  Two  Vols,  ready,  12mo, 
Cloth,  $2  00  per  vol. 

KRUMMACHER'S  DAVID,  KING  OF  ISRAEL.  David,  the  King  of  Israel : 
a  Portrait  drawn  from  Bible  History  and  the  Book  of  Psalms.  By  Fred- 
erick William  Keummacueb,  D.D.,  Author  of  "Elijah  the  Tishbite," 
&c.  Translated  under  the  express  Sanction  of  the  Author  by  the  Rev. 
M.  G.  Easton,  M.A.  With  a  Letter  from  Dr.  Krummacher  to  his  Ameri- 
can Readers,  and  a  Portrait.    12mo,  Cloth,  $1  75. 

LAMB'S  COMPLETE  WORKS.  The  Works  of  Charles  Lamb.  Comprising 
his  Letters,  Poems,  Essays  of  Elia,  Essays  upon  Shakspeare,  Hogarth, 
&c,  and  a  Sketch  of  his  Life,  with  the  Final  M.emorials,  by  T.  Noon  Tal- 
FouRi).    Portrait    2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $3  00. 

LIVINGSTONE'S  SOUTH  AFRICA.  Missionary  Travels  and  Researches 
in  South  Africa ;  inclnding  a  Sketch  of  Sixteen  Years'  Residence  in  the 
Interior  of  Africa,  and  a  Journey  from  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  to  Loando 
on  the  West  Coast ;  thence  across  the  Continent,  down  the  River  Zam- 
besi, to  the  Eastern  Ocean.  By  David  Livingstone,  LL.D.,  D.C.L.  With 
Portrait,  Maps  by  Arrowsmith,  and  numerous  Illustrations.  Svo,  Cloth, 
$4  50. 

LIVINGSTONE'S  ZAMBESL  Narrative  of  an  Expedition  to  the  Zambesi 
and  its  Tributaries,  and  of  the  Discovery  of  the  Lakes  Shirwa  and  Nyas- 
sa,  1858-1864.  By  David  and  Charles  Livingstone.  With  Map  and 
Illustrations.    Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

MARCY'S  ARMY  LIFE  ON  THE  BORDER.  Thirty  Years  of  Army  Life 
on  the  Border.  Comprising  Descriptions  of  the  Indian  Nomads  of  the 
Plains ;  Explorations  of  New  Territory ;  a  Trip  across  the  Rocky  Mount- 
ains in  the  Winter;  Descriptions  of  the  Habits  of  Different  Animals 
found  in  the  West,  and  the  Methods  of  Hunting  them ;  with  Incidents 
in  the  Life  of  Different  Frontier  Men,  &c.,  &c.  By  Brevet  Brigadier- 
General  R.  B.  Maecy,  U.S.A.,  Author  of  "  The  Prairie  Traveller."  With 
numerous  Illustrations.    Svo,  Cloth,  Beveled  Edges,  $3  00. 


6       Harper  cSn  Brothers*  Valuable  Standard  Works. 

M'CLINTOCK  &  STRONG'S  CYCLOPEDIA.  Cyclopaedia  of  Biblical,  The- 
oloffical,  and  Ecclesiastical  Literature.  Prepared  by  the  Rev.  John 
M'Clintock,  D.D.,  aud  JamksStkong,  S.T.D.  3  voln.  now  ready.  Royal 
8vo.    Price  per  vol.,  Cloth,  $5  00 ;  Sheep,  $6  00 ;  Half  Morocco,  $S  00. 

MACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  The  History  of  England  from 
the  Accession  of  James  II.  By  Tuomas  Babington  Macallav.  With 
an  Original  Portrait  of  the  Author.  5  vols.,  8vo,  Cloth,  $10  00 ;  12mo, 
Cloth,  $T  50. 

MOSHEIM'S  ECCLESIASTICAL  HISTORY,  Ancient  and  Modem;  in  which 
the  Rise,  Progress,  aud  Variation  of  Church  Power  are  considered  in 
their  Connection  with  the  State  of  Learning  and  Philosophy,  and  the  Po- 
litical History  of  Europe  during  that  Period.  Translated,  with  Notes, 
&c.,  by  A.  Maclaine,  D.D.  A  new  Edition,  continued  to  1826,  by  C. 
CooTK,  LL.D.    2  vols.,  Bvo,  Cloth,  $4  00. 

NEVIUS'S  CHINA.  China  and  the  Chinese :  a  General  Description  of  the 
Country  and  its  Inhabitants ;  its  Civilization  and  Form  of  Government ; 
its  Religious  and  Social  Institutions ;  its  Intercourse  with  other  Nations ; 
and  its  Present  Condition  and  Prosi)ects.  By  the  Rev.  John  L.  NEvirs, 
Ten  Years  a  Missionary  in  China.  With  a  Map  and  Illustrations.  12mo, 
Cloth,  $1  75. 

OLIN'S  (Dr.)  LIFE  AND  LETTERS.    2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $3  00. 

OLIN'S  (De.)  travels.    Travels  in  Egvpt,  Arabia  Petraea,  and  the  Holy 

Land.    Engravings.    2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $3  00. 
OLIN'S  (Dr.)  works.    The  Works  of  Stephen  Olin,  D.D.,  late  President  of 

the  Wesleyan  University.    .2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $3  00. 

OLIPHANT'S  CHINA  AND  JAPAN.  Narrative  of  the  Earl  of  Elgin's  Mis- 
sion  to  China  and  Japan,  in  the  Years  1S57,  '58,  '59.  By  Latirenck  Oi.t- 
PHAMT,  Private  Secretary  to  Lord  Elgin.    Illustrations.   8vo,  Cloth,  $3  50. 

OLIPHANT'S  (Mrs.)  LIFE  OF  EDWARD  IRVING.  The  Life  of  Edward 
Irving,  Minister  of  the  National  Scotch  Church,  London.  Illustrated  by 
his  Journals  and  Correspondence.  By  Mr.°.  Oliphant.  Portrait.  Svo, 
Cloth,  $3  50. 

PAGE'S  LA  PLATA.  La  Plata:  the  Argentine  Confederation  and  Para- 
cnay.  Being  a  Narrative  of  the  Exploration  of  the  Tributaries  of  the 
River  La  Plata  and  Adjacent  Countries,  during  the  Years  1853,  '54,  '55, 
and  '50,  under  the  Orders  of  the  United  States  Government.  New  Edi- 
tion, containing  Farther  Explorations  in  La  Plata,  during  1859  and  '60. 
By  Thomas  J.  Page,  U.S.N.,  Commander  of  the  Expeditions.  With  Map 
and  numerous  Engravings.     Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

POETS  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY.  The  Poets  of  the  Nineteenth 
Century.  Selected  and  Edited  by  the  Rev.  Robert  Akis  Willmott. 
With  English  and  American  Additions,  arranged  by  Evert  A.  Duyc- 
KiNCK,  Eclitor  of  "Cyclopaedia  of  American  Literature."  Comprising 
Selections  from  the  Greatest  Authors  of  the  Age.  Superbly  Illustrated 
with  132  Engravings  from  Designs  by  the  most  Eminent  Artists.  In 
elegant  small  4to  form,  printed  on  Superfine  Tinted  Paper,  richly  bound 
in  extra  Cloth,  Beveled,  Gilt  Edges,  $G  00 ;  Half  Calf,  $6  00 ;  Full  Turkey 
Morocco,  .$10  00. 

PRIME'S  COINS,  MEDALS,  AND  SEALS.  Coins,  Medals,  and  Seals,  An- 
cient and  Modern.  Illustrated  and  Described.  With  a  Sketch  of  the 
History  of  Coins  and  Coinage,  Instructions  for  Young  Collectors,  Tables 
of  Comparative  Rarity,  Price-Lists  of  English  and  American  Coins,  Med- 
als, and  Tokens,  «fcc.,  «fcc.  Edited  by  W.  C.  Prime,  Author  of  "Boat 
Life  in  Egypt  and  Nubia,"  "  Tent  Life  in  the  Holy  Land,"  &c.,  &c.  Svo, 
Cloth,  $3  50. 

SPRING'S  SERMONS.  Pulpit  Ministrations ;  or.  Sabbath  Readings.  A 
Series  of  Discourses  on  Christian  Doctrine  and  Duty.  By  Rev.  Gardiner 
Spring,  D.D.,  Pastor  of  the  Brick  Presbyterian  Church  in  the  City  of 
New  York.    Portrait  on  Steel.    2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $6  00. 


F7 
/Q7i 


